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LONG KNIVES 












The huge beast sprang forward and seized the muzzle 
of the gun in its jaws. — Page 31. 




LONG KNIVES 


THE STORY OF HOW THEY WON THE WEST 


BY 


GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON 

it 

Author of “Jack Shelby,” “The Bale Marked Circle X,” “ Camp Venture,’* 


“The Last of the Flat-Boats,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK T. MERRILL 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 


AUfc. 2b 1907 



Published, August, 1907 


P 3o 
\_o 


Copyright, 1907, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 


All Rights Reserved 


Long Knives 




NORWOOD PRESS 

Berwick & Smith Co. 

NORWOOD, MASS. 

U. S. A, 


PREFACE 


In the main this story is the simple his- 
tory of one of the most wonderful military 
achievements ever accomplished by the gen- 
ius of a commander and the limitless endur- 
ance of his men. 

The story is here told in the form of fic- 
tion, but there is really very little fiction in 
it, and that little deals only with matters of 
minor moment. 

The main body of facts, together with 
George Rogers Clark’s speeches to the Cre- 
oles and the Indians, have been drawn from 
authentic and accepted historical writings, 
Clark’s addresses being exact copies from 
his own reports and from his Memoir. 

The story of wonderful achievement with 
almost absurdly inadequate means, is so ro- 
mantic and so dramatic in itself as to leave 
the novelist next to nothing to do but tell it. 

But it happened that several of my own 


PREFACE 


ancestors, and many of the ancestors of the 
people who were my neighbors in childhood, 
were soldiers under George Rogers Clark. 
As a consequence my early life had for its 
inspiration many stories of that marvellous 
campaign — stories transmitted from sire to 
son, and bearing with them, as the testimony 
of eye-witnesses, even more of historical 
authority than the official records do. 

It is from these stories, related to my won- 
dering ears, in early childhood, in front of 
great pioneer kitchen fire-places, that I have 
drawn those parts of the present story which 
the reader may perhaps regard as fiction in 
embellishment of history. 

The Virginians who, under Clark con- 
quered the West and made the glory and 
greatness of our country possible, were 
called by the Indians “Long Knives” or 
“Big Knives.” The Indian word meant 
either “long” or “big” as the translator 
might choose. President Roosevelt and 
some other writers use the form “Big 
Knives.” I have preferred to write “Long 
Knives,” partly because that was the term 
ii 


PREFACE 


made familiar to me in my childhood by the 
fireside narrators of these wonder stories, 
who had heard the name from the lips of 
the Long Knives themselves, and partly be- 
cause the hunting knives — of which I have 
examined many scores — were really not big 
in any dimension but length. It was not 
until Col. Bowie altered the “Long Knife” 
of the huntsmen into the “Bowie Knife,” 
for purposes of fight that it became “big.” 

So much by way of explanation. Now to 
the story. 


m 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Out of the Darkness ... 1 

II. Quick on Trigger .... 17 

III. Hurried Work 31 

IV. The Leader of tiie Long Knives 41 


V. The Rev. Zaccheus Bonty . . 53 

VI. Clark and his Men .... 67 

ATI. Parson Bonty’s Sermon . . .76 

VIII. Three Men in a Boat ... 88 

IX. A Rather Bad Night ... 97 

X. A Discovery and a Capture . . 112 

XI. John Duff’s Promise . . . 128 

XII. A Great War Game .... 135 

XIII. Lost in the Enemy’s Country . 148 

XIV. The Long Knives in Town . .161 

XV. How the Frenchmen Were Con- 
quered 175 

XAT. Father Gibault’s Conquest . 186 
XVII. Hawk Camden’s Letter . . . 199 


XVIII. The Tobacco’s Son, the Grand 

Door to the Wabash . . . 209 

XIX. A Council Fire ..... 219 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XX. Tom’s Hazardous Journey . . 235 

XXI. Tried as By Fire 250 

XXII. Hard Traveling 265 

XXIII. The Fall of Vincennes . . .271 

XXIV. A Critical Situation . . . 283 

XXV. A Napoleonic Plan .... 300 
XXVI. The Beginning of a Terrible 

March 307 

XXVII. Wintry Work 320 

XXVIII. Hawk Camden Kills “ Game ” . 330 
XXIX. A Dauntless Crew .... 343 
XXX. In Vincennes at Last . . . 367 

XXXI. The Long Knives Triumph . .374 

XXXII. Afterwards . . . . . 383 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


The huge beast sprang forward and seized the 

muzzle of the gun in its jaws (page 31) Frontispiece 

PACING PAGE 

“ Now let us sing the doxology an 7 git to work 

at the oars ! ” 86 

Tom looked at the man a moment, and then 

held out his haud 120 

Father G-ibault, with his company of patriarchs, 

again waited upon Colonel Clark .... 180 

The horse managed to carry his rider into 

difficulties 252 

The march was toilsome beyond conception 322 






































































































































































( 






































I 






























, 





LONG KNIVES 


i 

OUT OF THE DARKNESS 

T HE fires were burning low under the 
salt kettles when Tom Harrod ven- 
tured out of the woodlands and into 
their light. He skimmed the contents of 
the kettles with the utmost care and an ex- 
treme delicacy of touch, for if he should 
disturb more than the surface, he knew, the 
magnesia which he wished to remove would 
precipitate and mingle itself with the slowly 
forming salt, which he wished to preserve in 
its purity. 

His two comrades were still creeping 
about in the woods looking for the intruder 
whose approach had prompted all of them 
to retreat from the firelight into the shadows 
lest they make targets of themselves. But 
1 


LONG KNIVES 


the time had come when the kettles must be 
skimmed, and at risk of his life Tom Har- 
rod had come out of the gloom and into the 
glow to attend to them. He w r as well used 
to taking risks when duty required. 

It was on a night in early June, in the 
year 1778. The place was a salt lick in 
what was then the Virginia county of Ken- 
tucky, not more than one or two days’ jour- 
ney from the falls of the Ohio, where the 
city of Louisville now stands, but where at 
that time there was not even a hamlet to 
suggest the coming of a great busy and 
prosperous city. 

At that time there were only a few hun- 
dred people living in the vast region now 
known as Kentucky, and their rude log 
cabins were so widely scattered that in many 
cases a family’s nearest neighbors dwelt a 
dozen or twenty miles away. 

These were men of daring and adventur- 
ous spirit, who had crossed the mountains 
from Virginia and the Carolinas, partly in 
search of adventure, partly in pursuit of 
their game-hunting instinct, and partly to 
2 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 

possess themselves of one of the fairest and 
richest regions of country that ever existed 
upon earth. Curiosity to see new lands and 
encounter new experiences, — in other words 
the travel instinct — was also a part of their 
impulse. So was the love of danger for 
its own sake, for every hour of their lives 
in that wilderness was an hour of danger to 
each and all of them. 

There were hostile Indians often about 
them, and great bodies of hostile Indians in 
the region north of the Ohio river. Worse 
still, the Indians north of the river were con- 
tinually instigated by the British commander 
at Detroit to do all the savage butchery they 
could among the Americans, west of the Al- 
legheny mountains. 

The Revolutionary war was in progress 
at that time. The British held Canada, and 
they had declared all the region west of the 
mountains — all of what we now call Ohio, 
Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and Michigan 
— to be a part of Canada ; so that even if the 
Americans should succeed in winning their 
independence, they would be shut in and 
3 


LONG KNIVES 


helpless within a narrow strip of country 
lying between the mountains and the sea, 
with a strongly held British possession north 
and west of them. 

In order to hold that western possession 
and to drive out of it the venturesome Vir- 
ginians and Carolinians who had crossed the 
mountains to take possession of it and to 
build up homes for themselves there, the 
British commander at Detroit had entered 
into an unholy alliance with the savage In- 
dians of the Northwest. Not only did he 
furnish them with arms, ammunition, and 
provisions, but he actually instigated them 
to their savage warfare upon men, women 
and children alike, by offering them money 
bounties upon all the scalps they might 
bring in, whether scalps of men in arms, of 
peaceful citizens, of women, or of helpless 
little children. In brief, this infamous 
scoundrel, Henry Hamilton, deliberately 
hired the Indians to butcher all the Ameri- 
cans west of the mountains, of whatever age 
or sex they might be. 

But the few hundred Virginians and Caro- 
4 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


linians who had journeyed westward and 
settled in Kentucky, were a daring and reso- 
lute set of men and women. They were 
prepared to fight Indians or anybody else in 
defense of their right to live in a country 
that was their own. 

They lived in lonely log cabins built in 
such “clearings” as they had been able to 
make in the wonderfully dense forest with 
which the entire country was covered. A 
“clearing” was a space from which the trees 
had been cut in order to convert the land 
into farm fields. For the most part these 
fields had been so recently cleared that they 
were still studded with the stumps of the 
trees which had been cut away, so that their 
cultivation involved a vast deal of very hard 
work. But the pioneers were no more 
afraid of work than they were of danger. 
Sometimes, when the settler had not had 
time to clear his fields, the cabins were built 
in “deadenings” — that is to say, spaces on 
which the trees had been killed by cutting 
the bark away in a ring around each. Trees 
so “deadened” bore no leaves, of course, and 
5 


LONG KNIVES 


so crops of corn could be grown among 
them, and when they became seasoned they 
could be burned down merely by building 
fires about their roots in the autumn after 
the crops were gathered. 

Some of the pioneers protected their cabins 
against Indian attacks by building stock- 
ades of logs set on end around them, from 
behind which the members of the family, 
all armed with rifles that they knew how to 
use with deadly effect, could defend them- 
selves against many times their own number. 

Others built strong blockhouses near their 
cabins, into which they could retire when at- 
tacked. These block-houses were built of 
heavy logs hewed square and laid closely 
upon each other, leaving no spaces between. 
The upper story of a blockhouse was larger 
than the lower, projecting a foot or two be- 
yond it on every side. This rendered it im- 
possible for an enemy to scale it. There 
were narrow slits to shoot through. 

Every night the pioneer had to bring 
home his cattle in order to protect them 
against the forays of marauding Indians, 
6 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


and if there was a stockade, he enclosed 
them within it. 

Thus every home was a fortress and its 
occupants knew how to defend themselves, 
how to feed themselves upon the game with 
which the woodlands abounded, and how to 
meet death with calm, unflinching courage 
if occasion to do that should come to them. 
Every man among them knew how to shoot 
a rifle with such precision of aim as to kill 
squirrels without breaking their skins, by 
striking with a bullet the tree branch on 
which they sat, at a point just under their 
chins. Indeed their skill with the rifle was 
such that if by any chance one of them 
missed his aim he instantly decided that his 
gun was bewitched. In that case he fired a 
silver bullet from it by way of breaking the 
evil spell. Moreover, they were so “quick 
on trigger,” as they phrased it, that if a 
Spanish silver dollar were tossed in the air 
at a rifle range distance, they could hit it 
with a bullet no larger than a goodly sized 
pea, before it fell to the ground again. 

But the men were not the only marksmen, 

7 


LONG KNIVES 


nor always the best ones. The ability to 
shoot with deadly precision was, in that time 
and country, at once a necessary means of 
securing food and an imperative need of de- 
fense. So, from early infancy, all the boys 
and girls were taught to shoot, so that they 
might kill the game they needed for food, 
and so that in case of an Indian attack they 
might do their share of the shooting neces- 
sary for the enemy’s discomfiture and de- 
struction. One old record which is still pre- 
served shows that at a “shooting match” a 
boy of seven bore off the honors for accu- 
racy of aim, and that his sister, a little girl of 
eight, won a haunch of venison as the second 
best shot of all the company. 

Day and night, winter and summer, these 
people were constantly exposed to raids of 
the Indians from the region north of the 
Ohio river, raids led by skilled English or 
Canadian French officers who did not shrink 
in disgust, as civilized soldiers should have 
done, from the indiscriminate butchery in 
which their Indian allies indulged, but on 
the contrary stimulated the savagery of their 
8 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


red-skinned associates and themselves joined 
in the slaughter and the scalpings. 

The Virginians in Kentucky called Ham- 
ilton, the British commandant at Detroit, 
who directed all this, the “Hair-Buyer gen- 
eral,” because he bought scalps, and he de- 
served the epithet of infamy. 

The Virginians in Kentucky were called 
by the Indians “Long Knives,” or “Big 
Knives” because every man of them carried 
a long hunting knife in his belt, with which 
to finish the game when he had shot it, with 
which to skin and dress it, and with which to 
cut mp his food when he came to his meals. 
The knife served other purposes also, and 
was the hunter’s chief reliance for comfort 
and convenience, precisely as his unerring 
rifle was his chief reliance for the defense 
of his home and for the killing of the game 
which constituted the principal part of his 
family’s meat supply. 

Under stress of such a life boys and girls 
early became as self-reliant as grown men 
and women were, and they were often 
charged with arduous and difficult duties 
9 


LONG KNIVES 


which, in a less strenuous time, would have 
been undertaken only by their elders. 

Tom Harrod and his companions at the 
salt lick were mere boys, in age at least, but 
there had been no thought of hesitation in 
sending them to do what would ordinarily be 
accounted a task for grown men. Tom was 
sixteen years old, but after the manner of 
pioneer boys, he had — as people in that coun- 
try phrased it — “outgrown his breeches.” 
That is to say, he was nearly six feet high, 
lean, muscular, strong — as active as a cat, 
and so far accustomed to the conditions of 
frontier life that nothing in the way of dif- 
ficulty or danger daunted him, while it never 
occurred to him, under any conceivable cir- 
cumstances, that he had need of any older 
man’s guidance or even of advice and coun- 
sel at the hands of any older man. The 
education of danger and of hard experience 
had been his from his earliest childhood, and 
all that it could teach of resolute self-reli- 
ance, he had learned. He knew how to walk 
long distances without weariness. He knew 
10 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


how to take care of himself in the woods, 
how to sleep wherever he might happen to 
be when the night fell, how to provide him- 
self with food, and, if need be, how to go for 
long periods without food. There wasn’t a 
flinch or a whimper in him and, mere boy 
that he was in years, he was in fact and ex- 
perience a strong, resolute and thoroughly 
self-reliant man, ready to undertake any 
duty and discharge it well; ready to endure 
any hardship and make the best of it ; ready 
to encounter any danger with calm-minded 
and alert ingenuity of resource, and ready, 
if necessary, to meet death itself without a 
thought of faltering. 

In all this he was not exceptional. All 
the boys he knew in Kentucky were of the 
same kind. It was about the best breed of 
boys that has ever been grown upon this 
earth of ours, and the debt this country owes 
to such boys of the West is one that can 
never be accurately estimated. It was they, 
as will appear in the course of this story, 
who won and saved the great West to the 
11 


LONG KNIVES 


Republic and made it possible for our coun- 
try to become the greatest, freest, best na- 
tion in the world. 

There were salt springs in several parts 
of Kentucky. They and the lands round 
about them were called salt “licks” because 
for ages the deer, the round-horned elk, the 
bears and the bulfalo that abounded in that 
region had resorted in great numbers to 
these spots, to lick the soil for the sake of 
its salt. These wild animals had visited 
these places in such countless numbers that 
they had trampled great highways through 
the forest, destroying the undergrowth and 
wearing away even the thick carpet of grass 
with which insistent nature was apt to cover 
every inch of ground that the sun had 
a chance to shine upon. 

To these salt licks the pioneers, or “Long 
Knives,” went now and then to secure a sup- 
ply of salt by boiling the water of the 
springs. They went thither also to kill the 
wild game which frequented such places for 
purposes of licking. At first every pioneer 
who went to the licks to make salt had to 
12 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


carry his own kettles with him, but soon that 
spirit of mutual helpfulness which always 
inspired the pioneer life, prompted the Long 
Knives to set up a series of big kettles at 
each lick and to leave them there for the use 
of any others who might come. 

Tom Harrod, with two younger boys, had 
been sent to make salt, and their task was 
now nearly finished. They had brought 
with them a bag of meal, and no other pro- 
visions whatsoever. On the journey to the 
salt lick they had killed squirrels and other 
small game in numbers sufficient to their 
need. Soon after arriving at the lick Tom 
had killed one of the great, hulking, round- 
horned elks that abounded in that region, 
and upon the dainty meat thus secured the 
boys had lived during their fortnight or 
more of salt boiling. Elk steaks, broiled on 
the coals of a beechwood fire, with corn meal 
loaves cooked in the ashes of the same fire, 
had seemed to them food fit for a king — fit 
even for General Washington, whom they 
would complacently have invited to dine with 
them, if he had been there, never for a mo- 
13 


LONG KNIVES 


ment thinking it necessary to apologize for 
the slenderness of their bill of fare. 

During their salt boiling work the boys had 
kept themselves constantly on the alert, of 
course. There was always the possibility 
of an Indian attack, and the Long Knives 
never lost sight of that danger for one mo- 
ment, night or day, at home or abroad. 

At this particular time there was no spe- 
cial danger of that kind. No Indian for- 
ay south of the river was known to be in 
progress. If such had been threatened the 
boys would have known of it, for in every 
such case the alarm was quickly given to 
every cabin throughout that region, and 
men were promptly mustered to meet and if 
possible to repel the attack. 

But there were sneaking, lurking Indians 
always about, and it was the practice of 
these to creep through the woods at night, 
and from the shadows of the thickets, pick 
off those who were careless enough to sit in 
the full glare of camp fires. The salt licks 
especially were subject to such Indian 
14 


OUT OF THE DARKNESS 


hauntings, and so the Long Knives who 
went thither to make salt were particularly 
alert to meet that danger. After nightfall 
they kept away from the kettle fires except 
at such times as the salt making process com- 
pelled their presence there. At such times 
they did their duty at jaunty risk of their 
lives. In the same way they went to the 
fires when necessary for the purpose of 
cooking their food, but at such times those 
of them who were not needed at the fire were 
sent to prowl through the dark woodlands 
in search of lurking enemies. 

On the evening on which this story opens 
the three boys had heard the breaking of a 
stick out in the woods, indicating a suspi- 
cious presence there. Taking their rifles in 
their hands they had quickly begun a search, 
each boy going in a direction different from 
that taken by the others, and each creeping 
as noiselessly as possible through the 
brushes. 

But the salt boiling was at that stage of 
its progress when the kettles must be 

15 


LONG KNIVES 


skimmed, and Tom Harrod, the command- 
ant of the party, boldly went to the fires and 
performed that duty. 

As he was doing it a young white man — 
twenty five or twenty six years old — sud- 
denly emerged from the bushes and boldly 
marching into the full glare of the fire, 
called out : 

“Evenin’, stranger. Kin I git some- 
thin’ to eat?” 


16 


II 

QUICK ON TRIGGER 

H OSPITALITY was regarded as the 
supreme virtue, next to courage, in 
that wild western land. Every 
stranger who might present himself at any 
cabin door was held to be entitled to food 
and lodging, not as a matter of privilege, 
but as a matter of human right. The best 
that the pioneer had was freely offered to 
the stranger, quite as a matter of course. 
In a land in which there were no taverns 
every man going upon a journey must be in 
some degree dependent upon hospitality 
from day to day and from night to night, 
and so every man in his turn stood ready to 
extend hospitality to whatever stranger 
there might be at his gates. 

In that spirit Tom Harrod promptly ex- 
tended to this stranger the freedom of his 
17 


LONG KNIVES 


camp, asking him to share in the ash cake 
and the broiled slices of venison that were 
presently to constitute the boys’ evening 
meal. 

But there was another side to wild west- 
ern hospitality. The guest who was made 
free of bed and board was expected in an- 
swer to questions, to give an account of him- 
self — to tell who he was and whence he came 
and whither he was going and why, — all this 
merely for the sake of friendly conversa- 
tion. Accordingly, when Tom Harrod 
gave a signal, calling the other boys in to the 
camp, and when the juicy venison and the 
hot ash cake were nearly ready to be set out 
on bark platters laid upon the trunk of a 
fallen tree that served as a table, the three 
young Long Knives questioned their guest 
without a thought of impertinence or a sus- 
picion of prying. 

“I come from up on the Holston,” he an- 
swered, — “up in old Virginia, you know. 
You see Col. Clark, he’s done got leave o’ 
the governor to ’list some companies an’ 
bring ’em out here to defend Kaintucky 
18 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


county. Most of his men he got up the 
state somewheres, an’ he took ’em to Pitts- 
burg an’ brung ’em down the river to the 
Falls on flatboats. But us fellers what 
’listed up in the Holston country was as 
dost to the F alls, or purty nigh it, as we was 
to Pittsburg; so Col. Clark ordered us to 
march acrost country to the Falls. Well, 
you see when we got there we began to sus- 
picion like, that we’d been fooled.” 

“Not by Col. Clark,” said Tom. “Any 
man who says that, lies and that’s all there 
is about it. I’ve known George Rogers 
Clark ever since I was knee high. He never 
cheated or deceived anybody in his life, and 
you shan’t say he did when I’m by to hear 
you say it.” 

“Well, anyhow we heard it talked around 
that instid o’ bringin’ us out here to defend 
Kaintucky county he was a plannin’ to 
march us away off somewheres to fight Brit- 
ish an’ Injuns an’ Frenchmen, an’ we seen 
mighty clear that he hadn’t half enough men 
to resk sich a thing as that. He hadn’t no 
more’n a hundred an’ twenty men, an’ 
19 


LONG KNIVES 

scarcely that, while they do say that if he 
was to go up into the Injun country any- 
wheres the British could muster two or three 
thousand to say nothin’ of the Injuns. So 
us fellers, we just made up our minds not 
to go on no such fool expedition as that. 
We jest backed out, though I’m free to say 
I, for one, didn’t like backin’ out a bit. 
Anyhow, we jest quit three nights ago an’ 
started to go back to the Holston country. 
But we’re findin’ it a purty hard job, ’cause 
Col. Clark he sent his hoss soldiers out to 
ketch us an’ he tole ’em to kill every one of 
us. Then agin, all the people out here in 
Kaintucky county seems to be sot agin’ us. 
’Taint only that they won’t give us nothin’ to 
eat, but a good many of ’em is a gunnin’ fer 
us in the woods, so’s we dassen’t even shoot 
game, ’case if they heared us shoot they’d 
be on to us, quick. That’s why I ain’t had 
nothin’ to eat for so long. I kin stan’ still 
in the woods an’ coax squirrels to come to 
me, an’ of course I mout have killed some 
that way, but I ain’t never yit betrayed a 
squirrel or a bird that come to me that 
20 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


way an’ I ain’t agoin’ to begin now. I’ll 
starve to death first. I don’t know what I 
should ’a’ done ef I hadn’t found you fel- 
lers. Seems like they ain’t no way out’n 
this here thing. Every which way I try to 
go, they’s somebody a watchin’ to shoot me. 
I reckon the hoss soldiers has done ketched 
most of our fellers, and I reckon some o’ 
these Kaintucky people ’ll shoot me ’fore 
I’m done with it.” 

“Drop that!” sharply commanded Tom 
Harrod, rising and bringing his rifle to his 
shoulder, just as his guest was about to be- 
gin upon his first strip of venison. “Drop 
that meat quick!” and the stranger obeyed. 
“You’re a deserter. You can’t have bite 
or sup with us. You may starve to death in 
the woods if you choose, or you may live on 
fish worms and snails and snakes, and maybe 
in that way you can make your way back to 
the Holston, but you can’t have any help 
from us.” 

The boy’s angry determination was so ob- 
vious, and with his rifle at his shoulder, he 
was so intent upon enforcing it, that the 
21 


LONG KNIVES 


stranger instantly dropped the food he was 
just bringing to his hungry lips, and entered 
a protest. 

“Well, it wa’n’t fair, you see,” he said. 
“Us fellers was ’listed on the Holston to de- 
fend Kaintucky, an’ when we got down 
there to Corn Island at the Falls, we found 
out, or suspicioned, that Clark intended to 
march us ’way over into the Illinois, to fight 
Englishmen and Frenchmen and Injuns. 
So we backed out, though, as I said before, 
I’d a ruther a stayed.” 

“Yes, you turned cowards as soon as you 
found that George Rogers Clark meant to 
defend Kentucky in the only way in which 
it can be defended — that is to say, by con- 
quering the Illinois and driving the British 
and their French and Indian allies out of 
that region.” 

“But you see,” said the man, pleadingly, 
“he hain’t got men enough for to go on no 
sich a expedition with. He hain’t got no 
more’n a hundred an’ ten or twenty men, 
an’ a thousand would be too few fer sich a 
undertakin’.” 


22 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


“Yes,” answered Tom Harrod, “and be- 
cause he hasn’t men enough you and your 
cowardly comrades from the Holston have 
deserted him, leaving him with a still smaller 
force. Just at the time when you were 
most needed you quit like the white-livered 
creatures you are. Very well. You may 
find your way back to Holston, but if you 
do you’ll do it without any aid from us, and 
more than that, you’ll do it without any aid 
from your rifle or your powder horn or your 
bullet pouch or your long knife, for I’ll 
trouble you to lay them aside right now.” 

Tom Harrod’s comrades, after the man- 
ner of the Kentuckians of that time, had 
quietly risen, seized their rifles and placed 
themselves at their leader’s side, ready to 
enforce his commands to the letter. 

“Now choose!” commanded Tom. 
“George Rogers Clark needs men, and you 
are one of those who allowed him to pay 
your way out here with the money of the 
State of Virginia. He paid your way on 
condition that you should be one of his 
fighting men. Now I offer you a choice. 

23 


LONG KNIVES 


Either you’ll go back to him and fulfil your 
soldier’s contract or I shall strip you stark 
naked, and turn you loose in the woods with- 
out your rifle or your powder horn or your 
bullet pouch or your knife or anything else. 
Come! say it quick, which shall it be?” 

The man cowered and quailed. He knew 
Tom Harrod’s sort, and he knew how cer- 
tainly the boy would stand by the words he 
had spoken. 

“I’ll go back to Clark,” he answered, “an’ 
I’ll serve out my term of ’listment. You 
see I didn’t want to back out as I tole you 
before. It’s the first time in my life that 
I ever did sich a thing, but all the other fel- 
lers said we’d been fooled and tricked, an’ 
they argified as how we must stand together 
for our rights, an’ so I had to do as the rest 
did, and then when we quit an’ started to 
march back Col. Clark he sent the hoss sol- 
diers after us, an’ they killed most of us an’ 
scattered the rest, an’ everybody in Kain- 
tucky turned agin us jest as you fellers 
has done, so we can’t git a mouthful o’ 
food.” 


24 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 

“That’s all right,” answered Tom Har- 
rod. “We Long Knives of Kentucky 
haven’t any use for cowards and sneaks. 
You men from the Holston agreed to go as 
soldiers under Col. Clark. It wasn’t his 
business to tell you where he was going or 
what enemies he was going to fight. You 
enlisted to fight. You backed out the mo- 
ment you learned that you were to do real 
soldiers’ work. You had expected to be 
housed in forts and stockades, and other safe 
places, and to live on the fat of the land. 
When you found out that George Rogers 
Clark had enlisted you as soldiers and meant 
to use you as soldiers in making real war, 
you deserted him and the cause for which he 
is fighting. I don’t believe all of you are 
cowards. I think some of you were simply 
misled and over persuaded. I don’t know 
to which class you belong, but you can de- 
cide that for yourself. I’m going to join 
Clark, as every Kentuckian is who can be 
spared from the direct defense of his own 
home. You can go with me, or you can 
set out for the Holston without a stitch of 
2 5 


LONG KNIVES 


clothing — as naked as you were when you 
were born.” 

“I’ll go with you,” answered the man. 
“It wouldn’t be anything like puddin’ to go 
back to the Holston anyhow to be laughed 
at an’ called a coward for the rest of my 
born days. I’ll go back to Corn Island if 
you’ll do what you kin to git Col. Clark to 
fergit an’ fergive.” 

“I’ll arrange all that” answered the boy 
confidently. “And now if you’ll stick to 
that you can have your supper.” 

The man ate ravenously. He had been 
without food ever since he had left Corn 
Island three days before. He had been 
compelled to hide in the woods for the 
greater part of the time, not daring even to 
shoot game lest Clark’s cavalry or the an- 
gry Kentuckians should come upon him and 
execute Clark’s order to put every deserter 
to death. At such cabins as he had ven- 
tured to approach in search of that food 
which the pioneers under ordinary circum- 
stances would have been glad to furnish 
gratuitously and lavishly to a stranger, he 
26 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


had been turned away in anger as soon as he 
had made himself known as a deserter. The 
Long Knives, and their women folk as well, 
w r ere mercilessly resolute in their condemna- 
tion of cowards and deserters. Bound- 
lessly hospitable as they were, they had nei- 
ther victuals nor drink to give to the man 
who had deserted George Rogers Clark in 
the hour of his need. Every such man who 
asked for food at a Kentuckian’s cabin was 
warned to take himself off the premises 
quickly, upon pain of having a bullet sent 
through his body, or a pack of wolf hounds 
set upon him. 

The poor fellow rested easily now that he 
had made his peace by agreeing to return to 
Clark’s camp, and in the meanwhile he was 
fully fed for the first time in many days. 
He was full of gratitude to Tom and his 
companions and he was eager to help them. 
He did help them in an important way. 
They were in a hurry to finish their salt mak- 
ing, take the product home to those who 
had employed them, and then be off to join 
George Rogers Clark — a thing which all 
27 


LONG KNIVES 


three of them had decided to do — or rather 
a thing they were going to do without any 
deciding about it. 

Their last salt boiling was thickening in 
the kettles, and when supper was done Tom 
announced that it needed only drying. 

“But that will take three days at least,” 
said Sim Crane, with melancholy in his 
voice. 

“Yes, I suppose it will,” answered Tom. 

“Not if you manage it right,” answered 
their guest, whose name, as they had learned, 
was Hawk Camden. 

“Why, do you know anything about salt 
making?” asked Tom, eagerly. 

“Yes. I worked a whole year at it down 
on the Kanawha. What do you dry your 
salt on?” 

“On the canvas wagon cover spread out 
on the ground.” 

“That’s what makes it take three days to 
dry,” answered the man. “Now let me 
show you.” 

With that he took the wagon cover and 
swung it between trees, fastening its ropes 
28 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


to limbs so that the canvas hung four feet 
or more from the ground. 

“Now spread your salt on that, thin like — 
jest as thin as you kin, an’ you’ll find it as 
dry as a bone by noon to-morrow or not long 
arterwards. You see, when you spread the 
canvas on the ground the water in the salt 
soaks down into the canvas. Then you have 
a soppin’ wet canvas underneath the salt an’ 
there’s no chance fer it to dry ’ceptin’ from 
the top. But when it’s hung up this way 
the air gits a chance at the underside o’ the 
canvas an’ dries it so’s it kin take more an’ 
more of the wet from the salt. You see the 
air is the thirstiest thing they is in all nature 
an’, ef you give it a fa’r chance it’ll swaller 
rivers o’ water.” 

As he talked the man spread the salt upon 
the canvas. 

“It’s drippin’ wet,” he said, calling atten- 
tion to the water droppings that were fall- 
ing from the under side of the cloth, “but 
it’ll quit that purty soon, you’ll see, an’ then 
your salt will dry.” 

At that moment there was a noise in the 
29 


LONG KNIVES 


bushes near at hand, and the boys, each seiz- 
ing his rifle, retreated into the shadows to 
await developments. 

The other boys lay still, waiting. But 
Tom Harrod never could be still for any 
length of time. He was possessed by a de- 
mon of restless energy, and impelled by it, 
he silently slipped away into the woods in 
search of the cause of their alarm. He had 
all the arts of the Indian at command, plus 
those of the pioneer huntsman. He knew 
how to move noiselessly through a thicket, 
even in the densest darkness of night, never 
by any accident treading upon a fallen 
twig that might make a noise in breaking, 
never letting a brush recoil from his hand 
with a swish, and never making a misstep 
however tangled the woodland might be. 
All of this had been bred in Tom Harrod 
from infancy until now it was a second na- 
ture to him. 

Another thing. His ears were trained, 
not only to catch the slightest suggestion 
of a sound, but to locate it instantly and ac- 
curately — a thing far more difficult than 
30 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


most persons understand. It is upon the 
lack of such training that the ventriloquist 
presumes when he deceives his auditors by 
what is mistakenly called “throwing his 
voice” in one or another direction. 

Thus equipped, with every sense alert, 
Tom silently moved through the bushes un- 
til he came out upon the salt lick. There, 
not twenty feet away, he saw by the glow of 
the distant fire, a huge black bear, busily 
licking the soil for its savor of salt. 

The bear in its turn was as alert in all its 
senses and as prompt in action as Tom Har- 
rod himself was. Before Tom could bring 
his rifle to his shoulder the huge beast sprang 
forward and seized the muzzle of the gun in 
its jaws and its great muscular fore paws 
at one and the same moment. Tom in- 
stantly understood that within a fraction of 
another second the beast would twist the 
weapon so that it could not be fired at all. 
Feeling that life and death depended upon 
his own promptitude of action he touched 
the hair trigger, and the great black beast 
fell to earth with a bullet through his brain 
31 


LONG KNIVES 


* — a bullet that had been driven into the back 
of the mouth and thence out at the top of 
the skull. 

Tom passed his hand hurriedly along the 
barrel of his piece and found to his very 
great satisfaction that the weapon was in 
nowise bent. The barrel of a Kentucky 
rifle in those days was a heavy and very stiff 
piece of metal, with a very small rifle bore 
in the centre of it. No ordinary force 
could mar it in the least, but Tom Harrod 
knew that a big black bear like the one he 
had encountered, had the strength of many 
bulls. He knew that if this beast had got a 
chance to wrench the gun, he would on the 
instant have made it as crooked and as 
worthless as a wild grape vine. And as the 
rifle was the backwoodsman’s best friend on 
earth Tom was rejoiced to discover by a sin- 
gle passage of his hand down the barrel 
that his quickness on trigger had saved his 
weapon from injury. 

Hurrying to the back of the beast as he 
lay, and carefully keeping out of reach of 
any convulsive strokes the great claw tipped 
32 


QUICK ON TRIGGER 


forepaws might give, Tom finished his work 
by plunging his long hunting knife into the 
soft part of the animal’s chest and thence 
into his heart. 


Ill 

HURRIED WORK 

N O sooner was Tom’s shot fired than the 
others of the little party, rifles in 
hand, rushed through the underbrush 
to join their comrade and render him any 
assistance he might need. The shot might 
mean the presence of Indians, or it might 
mean anything else. In any case they might 
be needed with their ever ready rifles, and 
after the helpful manner of the courageous 
men of that time, these youngsters hurried 
to Tom’s side, ready for whatever might 
await them there. 

They found Tom hurriedly reloading his 
rifle. As soon as they saw what the occa- 
sion of the alarm and the shot had been, they 
set themselves to complete the work to be 
done. Securing grape-vines they swung 
the bear head downward to a limb, and set 
34 


HURRIED WORK 


to work to remove his skin and dress his 
great fat carcass. 

In this task Hawk Camden, who had been 
a hunter all his life, helped them skilfully, 
and when it was done he ventured a sugges- 
tion. 

“It’s June now,” he said, “an’ they’s a lot 
o’ flies about, an’ all that sort o’ thing. 
Why not smoke the b’ar so’s to git him home 
good an’ sound?” 

“But we haven’t time,” objected Tom. 
“We shan’t stay here more than one more 
day and it takes weeks to smoke bear bacon.” 

“That ain’t what I meant,” said Hawk. 
“I didn’t mean to make bacon but jest to 
keep the fresh meat sweet. Ef we salt the 
outside of it well an’ then give it a few 
hours of thick smoke, it’ll dry off like, an’ 
keep sweet, an’ best of all the flies can’t git 
at it, partic’lar ef they happens to be good 
sunlight to-morrow, as the stars promises 
now. Fer ef you leave fresh meat in a 
strong sunshine, it dries a sort o’ black crust 
all over it so’s that nothin’ kin git at it.” 

As Hawk evidently knew the art of pre- 
35 


LONG KNIVES 


serving game in this way better than any of 
the Kentucky boys did, they let him direct 
the operation. Using an ax for cleaver, he 
cut the bear into large pieces. These the 
boys salted, rubbing the salt into all soft 
spots and all exposed places around the 
bone. Then the company built a rack of 
poles to which they hung the great pieces of 
meat, taking care that no two pieces should 
touch each other at any point. Next they 
built a little fire under the racks and spread 
a shelter of bushes over them in such fashion 
as to keep a dense smoke shut in around the 
meat. They were careful not to let the fire 
blaze up, but so to smother it as to make it 
yield the greatest possible volume of smoke. 

They worked all night at this and at the 
stirring of the slowly drying last instalment 
of salt. 

About ten o’clock the next morning, as 
the sun was shining fiercely, the boys tore 
down the smoke house shelter and hung the 
meat in the strongest sunlight and the full- 
est currents of air they could anywhere find. 
As Hawk Camden had predicted, a hard, 
36 


HURRIED WORK 


thin, black crust formed upon the meat, as 
hard, Tom said, as the bark of a hickory 
tree. 

By two o’clock Tom had satisfied himself 
that the curing of the meat was a success 
and in the meanwhile he had fully formed 
his plans. 

He helped his comrades load the wagon 
they had brought with them with the salt 
they had manufactured and with the deer 
and bear meat they had secured. Then, 
about four o’clock, he said to the elder of the 
two — a lad of fourteen or fifteen: 

“I’m going to send you two fellows home 
with the wagon. You can manage that as 
well as I can. I am going straight to the 
Falls and to Corn Island to join George 
Rogers Clark. Hawk Camden will go with 
me. I can’t wait to go home with the wagon 
for fear Col. Clark may leave before I get 
to Corn Island. But you two must hurry 
home with the salt and deliver it. Then you 
are to get a pack horse or two — they’ll give 
you what you need when they know where 
you’re going — load the horses with all this 
37 


LONG KNIVES 


meat and all other provisions you can pick 
up, and come as quickly as you can to the 
Falls. Hawk and I will carry one hunk of 
the meat with us to live on. You know your 
way by the trail. Hawk and I will strike 
straight through the woods to the Falls.” 

“But how will you find your way?” asked 
Ike Todd. “You haven’t any compass.” 

“I’ll show you,” answered Tom, taking 
out his big bull’s-eye watch, and stepping to 
a spot where the sun was in full view. 

“Now see,” he said, holding the watch 
level in his hand. “It is four o’clock and the 
hour hand of the watch points to IV. N ow 
when I point the hour hand, standing at IV, 
in the direction of the sun, that point on the 
dial which lies exactly half way between IV 
and XII is due south. That point is II, so 
that I know that south lies in the direction 
of the figures II. Now if you know where 
south is you can easily find any other point 
of the compass. With II for south, I 
know that north is in the direction of VIII, 
west in the direction of XI, east in the direc- 
tion of V.” 


38 


HURRIED WORK 


“But how if your hour hand is on the 
other half of the dial?” asked Sim. “Say 
at VIII? Which way do you count for 
half way toward twelve?” 

“Why the shortest way, of course. If 
the hour hand stood at VIII, south would 
be in the direction of X. You know, of 
course, that at noon the sun is in the south. 
Before noon it is east of south — after noon 
it is west of south. The only question in 
every case is how much east or how much 
west. The thing is perfectly simple. No 
matter what time it is, point your hour hand 
toward the sun and south will be just half 
way between that and twelve. Remember 
that. It may come in handy some time.” 

“It might if I owned a watch,” said Sim 
Crane, laughing. 

“Maybe you will some day,” answered 
Tom Harrod. 

“Where did you learn that trick, Tom?” 
asked Ike. 

“George Rogers Clark taught me how to 
do it when I was out with him surveying a 
year or two ago. But now we must be off. 

39 


LONG KNIVES 


We can’t afford to lose what’s left of the 
afternoon. You’d better keep going till 
nearly dark. The daylight will last till 
about eight o’clock. Good bye, we’ll meet 
you at Corn Island unless Col. Clark moves 
before you get there. If so find out which 
way he went and follow us in a skiff.” 


40 


IV 

THE LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 

A YEAR before the boys thus hurried 
away from the salt lick George 
Rogers Clark, then a young man of 
twenty-five, had conceived the plan of one 
of the great decisive, empire-building, his- 
tory-making campaigns of the world. He 
had since then toiled for a year to get ready 
for the execution of his plan, and he was not 
yet ready in any proper sense of the word. 
That is to say, he had no adequate force 
with which to make his campaign and he 
could get no adequate force. 

But George Rogers Clark in his own per- 
son and by virtue of his genius, his enter- 
prise, his limitless self-confidence, and his 
gift of controlling men, counted for more 
than a regiment or a brigade might have 
done under a less forceful command than 
41 


LONG KNIVES 


his own, and so, with the very meagre force 
at hand, he had resolved to go forward. 

Clark was a young Virginian whose edu- 
cation had been fairly good and in addition 
he had learned a good deal of mathematics 
and was a good practical land surveyor, just 
as George Washington had been before he 
became a great commander. Clark had 
gone to Kentucky as a boy, and while yet 
scarcely more than a boy he had become in- 
fluential there in an extraordinary degree. 

He was a man of genius and a born states- 
man as well as a born military leader. It 
was he who had discovered the need of or- 
ganization, cooperation and orderly govern- 
ment among the widely scattered settlers in 
the Kentucky country. It was he who had 
journeyed on foot and at great risk to Vir- 
ginia and induced the authorities there to 
erect Kentucky into a county with a court 
empowered at once to administer justice and 
to regulate public affairs by the exercise of 
legislative and executive authority. 

Then later, when the Revolutionary war 
came on, and Hamilton’s infamous opera- 
42 


LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 


tions threatened to make a hostile British 
possession out of all the region that we now 
know as Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin 
and Michigan — thus forever shutting the 
Americans in and forbidding to the Republic 
all possibility of expansion westward — it 
was George Rogers Clark alone who clearly 
understood what this meant. He saw how 
certainly, when the Revolutionary war 
should be ended, the British power, securely 
holding the region north of the Ohio, would 
proceed to conquer the Kentucky and Ten- 
nessee settlements south of the river, and 
make of the Allegheny mountains a Chin- 
ese wall standing in the way of American 
national growth. Further than that, he 
foresaw that with the region west of the 
mountains in their control and in easy com- 
munication with Canada, the British might 
bide their time and consult their convenience, 
but in the end descend upon the Americans 
from the rear with iresistible forces and re- 
conquer the young and feeble states to ar- 
bitrary British control. 

Neither the authorities nor the people east 
43 


LONG KNIVES 


of the mountains had grasped this situation, 
or given any adequate attention to this dan- 
ger. Neither the statesmen there nor the 
military comanders — with the exception of 
Washington — seemed ever to think of the 
wild country beyond the Alleghenies as of 
sufficient worth to waste men and means in 
defending. 

Napoleon Bonaparte was a lad of about 
ten years of age then — a boy in school. But 
to George Rogers Clark came a truly Na- 
poleonic thought, and he set to work with 
Napoleonic energy and Napoleonic audac- 
ity to carry the thought into action and to 
make accomplished fact of his dream of con- 
quest. 

It was his thought to conquer all the re- 
gion north of the Ohio, to break the menac- 
ing British power there, to seize upon all 
strategic positions in that country, and to 
secure the region once for all as an Ameri- 
can possession, open to American settlement. 

But where were the means to come from 
with which to carry so great an enter- 
prise to success? There were only a few 
44 


LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 


hundred men all told in Kentucky, while 
Hamilton, at Detroit, at Post Vincennes, at 
Kaskaskia and at Cahokia had a great mul- 
titude of trained soldiers and drilled militia- 
men and experienced volunteers available, 
to say nothing of his Indian allies number- 
ing many thousands of fierce warlike sav- 
ages, all in his pay, all armed and fed by him 
and all ready to do the most brutal kind of 
bloody murder at his instigation. 

The Revolutionary war was on and the 
feeble States east of the mountains were 
sorely beset and put to their own difficult 
defense at every point. They could spare 
no army for George Rogers Clark’s scheme 
of conquest. 

The Republic was at that time very loosely 
organized. To speak more accurately, it 
was not organized at all. There was no 
central or general government that could 
levy a tax, enforce a law, or control anybody 
anywhere. The thirteen revolting States 
were acting together in a vague, general 
way, but in the main each was standing by 
itself, concerning itself chiefly with its own 
45 


LONG KNIVES 


defense, and regarding the fate of the oth- 
ers with something like indifference. 

When a British force assailed any State, 
the people of that State rallied and resisted 
the attack. But when a neighboring State 
was assailed, there was no authority that 
could compel the militia to cross their own 
territorial lines and lend assistance. It was 
an era of jealous selfishness and segrega- 
tion. 

Clark perfectly understood that there was 
no national government to which he could 
appeal for men and means with which to 
carry out his great, empire-building scheme 
of conquest and defense. But Virginia 
claimed the Northwest as a part of her do- 
main, and Kentucky was merely a county of 
Virginia. So to Virginia he decided to ap- 
peal. He set out through the forest, and 
after a toilsome and very tedious journey 
he reached the Virginia capital. 

There he laid the case before the gov- 
ernor, who happened to be Patrick Henry, 
the man who had raised the cry of freedom 
— “Give me liberty or give me death!” 

46 


LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 


Governor Henry appreciated the impor- 
tance of Clark’s plan but his means of help- 
ing it were very meagre. Virginia was at 
that time threatened and beset by the Brit- 
ish. Her credit had been strained to the 
point of breaking, and all her fighting men 
who could be induced to enlist were already 
in service under Washington, Gates, Light 
Horse Harry Lee, and Lafayette. 

All that Governor Henry could do, there- 
fore, was to sanction George Rogers 
Clark’s plan and to give him permission to 
enlist in Virginia four companies of fifty 
men each, if he could persuade so many 
to join him. 

Acting upon this authority, Clark set to 
work to get his little force together. He 
dared not tell anybody what he was plan- 
ning to do, for the reason that news of it 
might reach Hamilton, at Detroit, and if 
that should happen, Clark knew that the 
wily and resentful British commander would 
immediately send forward a strong military 
force, composed of regulars, volunteers and 
trained Indians, to hold securely the strong- 
47 


LONG KNIVES 


holds that it was Clark’s purpose to conquer, 
and to drive the Virginians out of Kentucky. 

Accordingly, he gave it out that he was 
enlisting men “for the defense of Ken- 
tucky.” To many of the young men who 
were asked to go, this meant a picnic, or 
something closely akin to that. It meant 
that they should have a march through the 
picturesque woodlands to the wonderful 
Kentucky country, of which they had heard 
much ; that upon arriving there, at the pleas- 
antest time of year, they should be quar- 
tered in the comfortable cabins of the set- 
tlers, or in the little forts that had been built 
to defend Harrodsburg and the other settle- 
ments of importance. 

These were brave men, but they loved 
their ease and enjoyment, and while they 
were ready enough to fight Indians from 
behind stockades, they had not bargained 
for long and wearisome marches into the 
Illinois country, there to meet overmatch- 
ing numbers of British, French and In- 
dians. 

Clark took most of his men from Vir- 
48 


LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 


ginia to Pittsburg, and thence down the 
Ohio River in boats. But those of them 
who had been enlisted “on the Holston,” — 
that is to say, in Southwestern Virginia — 
were ordered, as Hawk Camden had ex- 
plained to the boys, to march across country. 

When, at last, Clark reached the Falls of 
the Ohio, he camped his force upon a little 
island which lay in the river near the Ken- 
tucky shore. This was then, and long af- 
terwards, known as Corn Island, but af- 
ter the trees were cut from it, the little 
isand gradually washed away, until now no 
trace of it remains in the river. 

The place was ideal for Clark’s purpose. 
It furnished a comfortable camp, and, be- 
ing an island, it was a spot on which Clark’s 
rather wilful and undisciplined men could 
be easily kept under control. More impor- 
tant still, it was a camp easy to defend if 
there should happen to be an Indian foray 
into the Kentucky country — a thing of fre- 
quent occurrence in those days. There was 
still another advantage in the fact that 
from Corn Island Clark could easily and 
49 


LONG KNIVES 


secretly communicate with every cabin in 
Kentucky for the double purpose of col- 
lecting provisions and drawing volunteers 
to his service. 

There could not be many such volunteers, 
for the reason that the total population of 
Kentucky was small, and many of the men 
and boys included in that population were 
imperatively needed at home, both to def end 
their cabins against Indians, and to culti- 
vate their little fields by way of warding off 
famine. But Clark sorely needed every 
man he could get of that sturdy, calm- 
souled, death-daring Kentucky race, and he 
had reason to expect the enlistment of a few 
of them, at least, through the secret emissa- 
ries he had sent out for that purpose. 

His need of such recruits was all the 
greater because the men of the Holston 
Company had deserted him, leaving him 
with considerably less than a hundred and 
twenty men, all told. 

To a spirit less daringly adventurous 
than his, the situation would have been hope- 
lessly discouraging. To such a man as 
50 


LEADER OF THE LONG KNIVES 


George Rogers Clark, the very discourage- 
ment of it was a spur to action. For not 
one moment did he falter in his great pur- 
pose. He meant to go into the Illinois 
and conquer the strongholds there. He 
meant to make all that fair region an Amer- 
ican possession forever. He meant to 
break or curb the hostile British power that 
dwelt there as a menace to Virginia and the 
new-born Republic struggling for liberty 
and independence. He had hoped to have 
three or four hundred men to aid him in his 
great work. This desertion left him with 
about a hundred and twenty, whose num- 
bers he hoped to swell to a hundred and 
fifty, or perhaps a few more, by recruits 
from the Kentucky settlements. But he 
had no thought of abandoning the enter- 
prise because of his lack of men and means. 

George Rogers Clark was one of the 
Long Knives, and it was never the habit of 
the Long Knives to falter in the face of dif- 
ficulty. Accordingly, as soon as he landed 
his force on Corn Island, he set to work as 
hurriedly as possible to prepare for his great 
51 


LONG KNIVES 


march. While waiting for his messengers 
to bring in all the recruits they could se- 
cure, he set his men to work repairing the 
flat boats and loading them with all the pro- 
visions he could command. He sent men to 
scour the country for bacon, dried bear’s 
meat, jerked venison, corn meal, dried 
beans and hominy. There was little enough 
of these provisions to be had, and to make 
good the deficiency, he sent parties of hunt- 
ers into the Indiana woods, north of the 
river, to bring in all the game they could 
kill. 

But haste was the main thing. Every 
hour of delay added to the chance that 
Hamilton would hear of his proposed move- 
ment and send a strong force to defeat it. 


V 

THE REV. ZACCHEUS RONTY 

I T was a little after dark when Tom Har- 
rod and Hawk Camden reached The 
Falls. Hawk was in a quiver of appre- 
hension. 

“You see,” he exj:>]ained, “Colonel Clark 
has done give the order to kill all the Hol- 
ston men what left him, and I’m one of ’em. 
Ef he takes me back as a soldier, I’m ready 
to go with him and do my duty up to the 
handle. But he’s mad, you know, Tom, 
an’ jes’ as like as not he’ll order me shot, 
’fore you kin git a chance to put in a word 
fer me. So you better leave me here, an’ 
you go into the camp an’ make arrange- 
ments, like, afore I go in.” 

“Nonsense!” answered Tom. “I know 
George Rogers Clark, and I’ll undertake 
to arrange for your pardon. He wants 
53 


LONG KNIVES 


men too badly to shoot any man who is ready 
to go with him. Anyhow, you’re going 
with me , and I’ll answer for it that no harm 
shall come to you. And what if he should 
shoot you? You deserve it for deserting. 
And you’ve got to die some time. Do you 
expect to live forever?” 

Thus urged and compelled, Hawk Cam- 
den followed his young leader, and the two 
crossed to Corn Island in a dugout that 
Tom found tied to the bank. He didn’t 
know whose dugout it was, but he was not 
standing upon ceremony just then. So he 
cast the boat loose, and seizing the single 
paddle that lay in the stern, pushed the craft 
across the swift, narrow channel that separ- 
ated the island from the shore. 

The men he encountered upon landing 
were strangers to him, but he quickly made 
them understand that he was a personal 
friend of George Rogers Clark’s, and that 
he wanted to find his way by the shortest 
possible route to Colonel Clark’s bivouac in 
that bit of woodland. 

54 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


“Hello, Tom!” said Clark, raising him- 
self to a sitting posture, after being awak- 
ened from sleep. “So you’re here, are you? 
I meant to send for you, but I didn’t, be- 
cause I knew you’d come without any send- 
ing. Hungry?” 

“No,” answered the boy, shaking the 
commander’s hand with the warmth of old 
friendship. “No, I’m not hungry. I had 
supper before it grew dark. Of course 
you knew I’d come. But why didn’t you 
let me know you had got here? I’ve been 
waiting for you to come. I might have 
missed you, and I’ve got some friends com- 
ing, too — some boys that know how to do 
men’s work.” 

“That’s good. But who’s your friend?” 
indicating Hawk Camden. 

“One of your Holston men, who wants 
to return to his duty. I’ve promised him 
your pardon if he is faithful hereafter.” 

“All right. Glad to get him back, 
What’s his name?” 

“Hawk Camden.” 


55 


LONG KNIVES 


“A very good name. Go to one of the 
camp fires, Hawk, and go to sleep. I want 
to talk with Tom.” 

Tom ITarrod and George Rogers Clark 
were old friends. When Clark, in early 
youth, first crossed the mountains into Ken- 
tucky, he fell in with Tom Harrod’s father 
on the journey, and became, in a sense, a 
member of the Harrod family. Tom’s 
father afterwards fell by Clark’s side in an 
Indian fight, and from that hour forward, 
Tom’s mother, and Tom himself, became 
George Rogers Clark’s nearest friends. 
He was a busy man with his surveying and 
with his Indian fighting, and with his public 
duties of many kinds, but he found time al- 
ways to look out for the widow and the chil- 
dren of his dead friend and benefactor. 

Tom’s mother had been a school teacher 
in Virginia, and it had been her jealous en- 
deavor to teach Tom to speak good English, 
instead of the backwoods dialect, and to in- 
duce him to read such books as she owned 
and such as she could borrow from the Bap- 
tist ministers, who constituted the “educated 
56 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


class” in the Kentucky of that early day. 
The result was that Tom Harrod spoke bet- 
ter English and had a better education than 
any other boy in the region round about 
him, though his mother had taught Ike 
Todd and Sim Crane to speak good En- 
glish also. For one thing, Tom knew Gul- 
liver’s Travels almost by heart, but in that he 
was not peculiar, for Swift’s romance was 
the best-known among the stray books that 
had found their way into Kentucky, and 
every man, woman and child in that region, 
even including the many who could not read, 
but must be read to, knew the stories of 
Lilliput and Brobdingnag and Laputa and 
the rest, almost by heart. How this came 
about, nobody in our modern time has ever 
been able to find out. But we know, at any 
rate, and with certainty, that “Gulliver” was 
read by the firelight in all the cabins of 
Kentucky, and that its stories were familiar 
to everybody there. 

In addition to the teaching his mother had 
given him, Tom Harrod had enjoyed the 
benefit of George Rogers Clark’s instruc- 
57 


LONG KNIVES 


tion. During the long winter evenings 
Clark had taught him his arithmetic thor- 
oughly. Then he had taught him algebra, 
geometiy, trigonometry, navigation and 
surveying, until the boy knew as much of 
the mathematics — pure and applied — as 
Clark himself did. Better still, so far as 
the youth’s education was concerned, he had 
spent many months with George Rogers 
Clark in the woods, engaged in the actual 
survey of lands, and that daily association 
with a man of Clark’s character, had been 
an incalculably valuable educative influence 
with the backwoods boy. 

In the meanwhile, Tom Harrod had 
grown to the full stature of manhood. He 
was nearly six feet in height; he weighed 
about a hundred and seventy pounds; he 
was muscular beyond the common, lean, 
sinewy and wonderfully lithe and active. 
In his mind he was also mature, as the nat- 
ural and necessary result of his life in the 
woods, where intellectual alertness and 
vigor were quite as necessary to self preser- 
vation as physical prowess itself. 

58 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


Clark’s pleasure in Tom’s arrival was so 
great that he instantly abandoned his pur- 
pose to sleep. He rose and stirred up the 
camp fire, throwing half a dozen big sticks 
of wood upon it, for even in June, as every 
old soldier knows, the man who spends the 
night out of doors is apt to find a fire com- 
forting. Besides, Clark wanted to talk 
with Tom Harrod. 

“How is your mother?” he asked. “And 
how is she going to spare you?” 

“Oh, she’s all right — and as for sparing 
me, you know very well she’d have driven 
me away if I hadn’t come here of my own 
accord. You know mother. She can take 
care of herself. And there are the girls — 
Minerva and Mary Jane. They know how 
to shoot straight, and they aren’t afraid. 
And there are the two younger boys. They 
can shoot, too, and they wanted to come with 
me when I told them, before I went to the 
salt lick, what you are going to do; but I 
wouldn’t let them. Jack is only eleven, and 
Jim only nine. So I ordered them to stay 
at home and defend the place, if need be. 

59 


LONG KNIVES 


It’s a sturdy race that has settled Kentucky 
and is holding it against long odds.” 

“Indeed it is,” answered Clark, “and the 
historians and poets will celebrate it some 
day, as the sturdiest and hardiest and most 
heroic race of men and women that ever 
made a country their own. Now, if we 
have good luck on this expedition, we’re 
going to give the poets and historians some- 
thing else to write about that is worth while. 
But tell me about your man, Hawk Cam- 
den. Where did you pick him up; and 
how?” 

“At the salt lick. We were there making 
salt. He came to us in a state of starva- 
tion. I found out that he had deserted you, 
so I gave him his choice of returning to his 
duty or being turned loose in the woods, 
stripped to the skin, and unarmed. He was 
glad enough to come back. Indeed, I 
think neither he nor the majority of his com- 
rades, ever wanted to desert you. They 
were over persuaded by a few malcon- 
tents.” 

“Well, I’ve over persuaded most of the 
60 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


malcontents, I reckon. Most of ’em are 
dead in the woods.” 

“Tell me,” asked Tom, “how many men 
shall we have when we leave here?” 

“It depends on how many can be spared 
from Kentucky. There can’t be many of 
them, but every man of them counts. We 
have a hundred and twenty-two, now, count- 
ing you and Hawk Camden. We may get 
enough more to swell our force to a hundred 
and fifty, or possibly a hundred and sev- 
enty-five.” 

“But you’re going, anyhow?” anxiously 
asked the boy. 

“Going? Do you expect the sun to go 
on rising and setting? Of course I’m go- 
ing, and I’m going to succeed, too.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the boy. “I never 
did believe in men who didn’t believe in 
themselves. How soon are we going to set 
out?” 

“Just as soon as I think all the Kentuck- 
ians have come in that can go with us. It’ll 
be a day or two, perhaps.” 

“That’s all right then,” said Tom. “My 
61 


LONG KNIVES 


friends, Sim Crane and Ike Todd, ought 
to be here some time to-morrow. I sent 
them home with the salt we made. I’ve 
told ’em to bring along the meat of a big 
black bear I killed up there at the salt lick, 
and they’ll bring some corn, or some meal, or 
some hominy. They’re good foragers, and 
they’ll bring whatever provisions they can 
find.” 

At that moment a tremendously tall old 
pioneer — six feet-six, at the least — pre- 
sented himself. He was clad in a home- 
spun wampus, with deerskin breeches, moc- 
casins, and a coonskin cap ornamented with 
six flowing tails. He carried a long rifle. 
He had his powder horn slung under his 
right arm, and his long hunting knife in his 
belt. 

“Evenin’, stranger,” he said, by way of 
opening conversation with the young com- 
mander. “Mout I inquire if your name’s 
George Rogers Clark?” 

“That’s my name,” Clark answered, smil- 
ing. “What can I do for you?” 

“Well, you see, I’m Zaccheus Bonty. 

62 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


When I’m at home I’m a Hardshell Bap- 
tis’ preacher, an a farmer. When I’m 
here I’m a Hardshell Baptis’ preacher, an 
a soldier. Anyhow, you see, I’m one o’ them 
fellers that’s ‘gone acrost the river an’ took 
en’ up lands on the north side, what they 
calls Injianny. I don’t keer what comes, 
I’m a goin’ to stick to the Injianny side o’ 
the river. Well, now, it’s this way. My 
boys is all gals. They’s eleven of ’em, an’ 
every one of ’em is a gal. But they’s got 
the sperrit in ’em, an’ so when one o’ your 
deserters he comes to us fer food an’ lodg- 
in’, like, — though we was on the north side 
of the river, an’ I didn’t know how he got 
there, — my gals got to questionin’ of him, 
like. An’ when they f ound out as how these 
men had left you, they tooken the deserter 
to the corn crib an’ tied him there an’ tole 
him to eat hard corn for his dinner. He 
come roun’ quick, an’ promised to go back 
with me ef you would take him back, an’ now 
lie’s done it. I brung him, shore . 

“Then my gals — all eleven of ’em — besot 
me to go down to the Falls an’ jine you for 
63 


LONG KNIVES 


the campaign. An’ their mother — she’s a 
woman o’ sperrit — she says, says she: ‘Zac- 
cheus, I’d ruther be the widder of a brave 
man than the wife of a coward.’ An’ so 
I’ve come off down here to jine your force, 
an’ they wa’n’t no weepin’ over me when I 
left. They’s got sperrit, them women folks 
o’ mine. My gals says the corn is in tossel, 
an’ nearly ready to lay by. They sa}^s they 
can do the rest o’ the plowin’ an’ the hoein’, 
an’ take keer o’ things generally. My wife, 
she says to me, says she: ‘Zaccheus, you’re a 
great preacher, an’ a movin’ one, an’ you’re 
powerful in prayer, but you’ve got a mighty 
fine farm over here on the north side o’ the 
river, an’ ef you’re agoin’ to keep it, you’ve 
got to help in this here enterprise o’ George 
Rogers Clark’s. Ef you don’t, the British 
an’ the Frenchmen, an’ the Injuns is des- 
tined to own all this here neck o’ the woods, 
an’ you’ll be sent a packin’, in spite o’ the 
stone house you’ve built an’ the stone corn 
crib an’ all the rest of it. So it’s your turn 
to fight fer the country north of the river.’ 

64 


THE REV. ZACCHEUS BONTY 


That’s what my women folks said to me, an’ 
you know women folks is always apt to be 
right, an’ even ef they ain’t right, they’re 
pretty likely to git their way. So here I 
am, to help you do any fightin’ they is to be 
done, an’ to preach to the men when the 
sperret moves me.” 

“Where’s your man?” asked Colonel 
Clark — “the man your girls locked in the 
corn crib?” 

“Oh, he’s in the camp, an’ I’m kinder 
lookin’ arter him. You see, he’s promised 
to fight without flinchin’, an’ I reckon he 
means it, but to make sure, I’ll keep him 
under my eye, like, exhortin’ him, like, an’ 
ef worse comes to worst, I’m prepar’d to 
show him that the Holy Scripter is true 
when it says ‘the way of the transgressor is 
hard.’ You jest let him trangress agin an’ 
I’ll fulfill the prophecy myself by makin’ 
it everlastin’ly hard for him. He’ll stick 
now, an’ he’ll fight when the time comes. 
I’ll answer fer that. I’m said to be power- 
ful in wrastlin’ with the Lord, but I’m pur- 
65 


LONG KNIVES 


ty powerful in wrastlin’ with a sinner also 
an’ likewise, an’ I’ll take keer o’ this here 
job.” 

“I think you will,” answered Colonel 
Clark. “At any rate, I’ll leave the matter 
to you. Good night. It’s very late.” 

It was ten o’clock in the evening, but to 
the early-rising, hard-working men of the 
West, ten o’clock was all of an hour late for 
bedtime. They could tramp all night, if 
need be, or hunt all night, or fight all night. 
But when there was nothing of such stren- 
uous sort to do, they saw no reason f or keep- 
ing much later hours than the chickens do. 


66 


VI 

CLARK AND HIS MEN 

O N the next day but one, Tom Harrod’s 
friends, Ike Todd and Sim Crane, 
arrived at the camp, bringing with 
them two or three other boys and one elderly 
man, who explained his coming by saying 
that his wife had just died, and as all his 
sons and daughters were married and set- 
tled, he didn’t see what better use he could 
make of his time than by “jinin’ the force.” 

A few other Kentuckians also joined, so 
that the total force at Corn Island at last 
reached about one hundred and fifty in 
number. It was utterly inadequate, or it 
seemed so, to the accomplishment of the 
work it was set to do. But there were two 
factors in the problem that went far to 
change its conditions and its chances. One 
of these was the character of the men. The 
67 


LONG KNIVES 


other was the character and genius of 
George Rogers Clark. 

The men w T ere, almost without exception, 
native Virginians, if we include Kentucky 
in Virginia, as was then the case. As such 
they had inherited courage, hardihood and 
unflinching manliness as birthrights and un- 
alterable characteristics. They were the 
sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of 
men and women who had cheerfully aban- 
doned lives of ease in England or Ireland or 
Scotland and had come out to conquer a wil- 
derness in utter disregard of danger and 
hardship and privation. Through two or 
three, and sometimes even four generations, 
these men and boys had been bred to endur- 
ance and daring until it had become an in- 
stinct with them to love danger for its own 
sake, to welcome privation as a thing to 
sharpen their wits upon, and to regard dif- 
ficulty, however great it might be, as a mere 
condition of an intricate and interesting 
game which they were set to play — the 
stakes being life and death. 

They were very young men, for the most 
68 


CLARK AND HIS MEN 


part. Many of them were mere boys in- 
deed, but in those days and in that region 
boys ripened very early into manhood. 
They were all of them tall — for in that time 
and country both men and women seemed 
to have borrowed the thought of height 
from the trees of the forests in which they 
lived or from the giant corn stalks their fer- 
tile fields produced. 

They were gaunt of form and thin of 
feature, as a result, probably, of their diet. 
They were meat eaters. They ate bread — 
mostly made of corn meal — when they could 
get it, but often they could not get it. They 
ate such vegetables as they had, when they 
were at home, but often they lived for weeks 
and even for months alone in the woods, 
where their only food was the flesh of game 
animals and their only drink the water they 
found in springs and brooks and larger 
streams. 

Even when these men were nominally at 
home they often spent days and even weeks 
in the woods round about their cabins, kill- 
ing game and loading themselves with pelts. 

69 


LONG KNIVES 


Often their love of wandering led them upon 
longer excursions, enduring for months. 
Some of them had made hunting trips to 
points as distant as Louisiana. 

These long hunting trips were usually 
made absolutely alone. Sometimes two or 
three of the “long hunters,” as they were 
called, would meet in the woods and fra- 
ternize for a day or two over a camp fire, 
but usually they preferred to be alone. 

They had the habit of solitude, therefore, 
with all of silence and self-reliance that that 
habit breeds in men. Often, even when two 
or more of them bivouacked together in the 
woods, they would sit silent for hours, not 
because of surliness, for they were not 
surly, but because they were unaccustomed 
to talk and they felt no need of conversa- 
tion. And after a night together they were 
likely to separate in the morning without a 
word of explanation or of farewell, each go- 
ing his chosen way, and each depending 
solely upon himself and his trusty rifle — 
feeling no need of other company or assist- 
ance. 

There were other reasons for their lean 
70 


CLARK AND HIS MEN 


muscularity, besides their diet. For one 
thing, they slept out of doors far more 
frequently than in doors. For another, 
they were ceaselessly active in ways that 
tended to reduce flesh. For still another, 
their minds were always alertly strained 
in the search for elusive game, or in avoid- 
ing or meeting danger. Men who must 
think alertly at every moment of every 
day do not accumulate fat. 

They were shrewd men, of course, and 
men of courage and resource. Otherwise 
they would not have been alive. Danger 
was their daily companion, and self-reliance 
was the fundamental fact of their being. 

In command of them on this expedition 
there was George Rogers Clark, a man of 
their own kind but superior to them in all 
that goes to make up commanding charac- 
ter and ability. He came before Napoleon, 
but it is impossible for any student of his 
character and career to avoid a comparison 
between him and Napoleon — a comparison 
from which George Rogers Clark in no wise 
suffers. 

The influence that Clark had secured in 

71 


LONG KNIVES 


Kentucky was as overmastering as it was 
strange. He had gone out there a mere boy 
of twenty, yet four or five years later he 
was the recognized leader of all the Ken- 
tuckians, though at that time Daniel Boone, 
Simon Kenton and other such men were 
there. He was the originator of the states- 
manship which gave orderly self-govern- 
ment to Kentucky. He was recognized as 
the most skilful and most daring Indian 
fighter of his time. His counsel was sought 
not only as to affairs of public concern, but 
also as to personal matters of every kind. 
In both cases what he advised was done 
quite as a matter of course. All the people 
believed in him — in his wisdom, his courage, 
his extraordinary sagacity and the relentless- 
ness of his determination. 

There was no orderly encampment there 
on Corn Island. George Rogers Clark’s 
men were soldiers for fighting purposes 
only. He imposed upon them none of the 
more formal and dandyish duties of the sol- 
dier. They wore their homespun jeans 
clothing. They built their camp fires 
73 


CLARK AND HIS MEN 


wherever they pleased. There were no for- 
mal guard-mountings, no parades, no fuss 
and feathers of any kind. But every man 
in that camp knew that the * command of 
their young colonel was law, even in cases of 
life and death. 

The force was very meagerly equipped. 
There were no tents. Why should men like 
these want a cotton cloth sheltering to sleep 
under — men who all their lives had been used 
to sleep in the woods wherever night might 
overtake them, with no concern whatever for 
the vagaries of the weather? 

We have already seen how Col. Clark se- 
cured his supplies of food, by sending out 
hunting parties to kill game. He very jeal- 
ously guarded his small stock of bacon as a 
reserve supply that must be kept against a 
time of need, when there might be no game 
at command. 

At Corn Island the men drew upon the 
river as well as upon the forest. They 
put out “trot lines” every night, and 
feasted next day upon the gigantic cat- 
fish and the great perch with which 
73 


LONG KNIVES 


western waters abounded in those days. The 
catfish often weighed as high as fifty or 
seventy-five pounds, while once in a while, 
even as late as the middle of the nineteenth 
century, catfish were caught in that river, 
weighing a hundred and sometimes a hun- 
dred and fifty pounds. The perch ranged 
in size from ten to twenty-five pounds. 

The river was full of these fish, and it was 
not difficult to catch them with trot lines. A 
trot line was a stout and very long line — 
ordinarily from a hundred to three or four 
hundred feet in length with a heavy stone 
attached to its outer end. Along the line at 
intervals of eight or ten feet there were fast- 
ened to the line what were called “stagings.” 
These were short lines, — two or three feet 
in length — with large hooks at the end, but 
w r ith no sinkers. When these hooks were 
baited, usually with crawfish, the land end 
of the trot line was made fast to a secure 
stake or tree at the edge of the water. 
Then the free end was carried out in a boat 
and the stone dropped into the river. In the 
morning the fisherman, with some one to 
74 


CLARK AND HIS MEN 


row, would go out in the boat lifting the line 
as he went, taking off the fish that had 
hooked themselves, baiting the hooks anew, 
and replacing the trot line in the water. 
Sometimes three or four fish would be 
caught on a single line during the night, and 
it was a rare occurrence to find a line with 
none on it when morning came. 

The men enjoyed the sport as well as the 
fish, but this was not destined to last long. 
Col. Clark was in an eager hurry to be off 
on his expedition, and as soon as he had 
drawn to himself all the volunteers he could 
hope to secure in Kentucky, he set the force 
in motion down the river. 


75 


VII 


PARSON BONTY'S SERMON 

B Y the 24th of June, 1778, everything 
was ready. The rude flatboats that 
were to carry the force down the river 
were loaded with such things as Col. Clark 
meant to take with him. These consisted al- 
most entirely of food supplies and ammuni- 
tion. There was little, if any, baggage — 
what did these wild woodsmen of Virginia 
and Kentucky care for baggage that would 
only encumber them on the march? They 
had their hunting shirts on their backs, their 
trousers, made of buckskin or of stout, 
home-woven jeans, on their legs, coonskin 
caps for headgear, and high boots, made of 
raw hide, which would actually outwear 
iron. With their rifles, powder horns, bul- 
let pouches, a few spare flints in their pock- 
ets, and their long hunting knives in their 
76 


PARSON BONTY’S SERMON 

belts, they felt themselves equipped for any- 
thing and everything. If they had been 
burdened with other possessions of any kind 
they would pretty certainly have thrown 
them away. 

When all was ready Col. Clark quietly 
ordered the men to go aboard the boats. 
He had already assigned to each of the 
boats the men it was to carry. He was too 
far-sighted, too orderly in his ways, to leave 
any detail to chance or to last-moment ar- 
rangement. 

The men marched aboard so quietly that 
if an enemy had been on the near-by shore 
and not looking, he would not have discov- 
ered the fact. They were pioneers, back- 
woodsmen, accustomed to shout at the top 
of their voices on all occasions, and they 
were so enthusiastic over this beginning of 
the work they were set to do, that if left to 
themselves they would have made the wood- 
lands for miles around echo to their hurrahs. 
But Clark had sternly enjoined silence, 
threatening severe punishment to any man 
who should whoop or halloo. There was al- 
77 


LONG KNIVES 


ways danger that British or Indian scouts 
might be within hearing and Clark was de- 
termined that his start down the river 
should be concealed from any such, as far as 
possible. In order to make sure that there 
were no spies within sight of the boats he 
had sent out Tom Harrod and half a dozen 
other men the night before to go silently 
through the woods on either side of the river 
and search them thoroughly. 

But though these scouts reported that 
there were certainly no spies within seeing 
distance, there might be some such within 
hearing of such a tumult as these men would 
have made if left to their own impulses. 
Hence the necessity of ordering absolute si- 
lence. 

When the boats were cast off and the 
great sweeps, or oars, were manned, the 
men wondered at the next order Clark gave, 
which was to row up stream instead of 
down. They had not studied the Falls as 
Clark had, and they did not understand that 
it was necessary to take the boats for a full 
mile up stream in order to swing them into 
78 


PARSON BONTY’S SERMON 


the swirling, boiling, turbulent channel that 
led over the Falls. Those Falls were in 
fact not falls at all in the strict sense of the 
term. They were simply a steep, rocky 
rapids, four or five miles long, over which 
the waters of the great river surged with 
turbulent violence. In times of low water 
no boat could possibly pass over these rapids. 
It would have been beaten to bits upon the 
rocks. In times of very high water the 
Falls presented no particular difficulty, 
though even then the voyage over them was 
likely to shake a boat up a good deal. In 
times of moderately high water, such as pre- 
vailed when this expedition started, a flat- 
boat could pass the Falls in safety, but to 
do so required a great deal of circumspec- 
tion. The boat must be kept in the channel 
if it hoped to escape wreck, and the channel 
was both narrow and very crooked, with 
threatening rocks on either hand, while the 
current was so rapid that it was very diffi- 
cult to keep a boat from being driven off at 
a tangent at every turn. 

Since that time the Government has done 

79 


LONG KNIVES 


much to render the passage easier and safer. 
Besides digging a steamboat canal around 
the Falls, it has blasted out the worst of the 
rocks. But in George Bogers Clark’s time 
the Falls were as Nature had made them 
and Col. Clark had to brave all their dan- 
gers and use all his ingenuity in meeting the 
difficulties. 

For one thing he lashed all his flatboats 
together, side by side and end to end, so that 
it case of accident the uninjured ones might 
support the others and keep them afloat, and 
so also that he might at all times have his 
entire force at hand for any work that an 
emergency might call for. 

Thus lashed securely together the oars 
were stopped and the fleet was left to float 
over the surging currents of the Falls. 

The great sweeps used on flatboats were 
a species of oars never used on any other 
kind of craft in the world, and Clark sta- 
tioned six or eight, or sometimes ten, men 
at each of these sweeps, so that the flotilla 
might be saved from wreck by vigorous row- 
ing in case of necessity. Until such emer- 
80 


PARSON BONTY’S SERMON 


gency should arise there was to be no row- 
ing whatever. The current was to do the 
necessary work of driving the fleet through 
the great sluiceway. But should danger 
arise Col. Clark wished to be ready for it. 
So he put a man in whom he reposed special 
confidence at each of the sweeps, with au- 
thority to command the others there. Then 
he stationed himself on an elevated platform 
hastily constructed for the purpose of per- 
mitting him to see not only the whole fleet 
but the entire expanse of the river. 

No mishap of any kind occurred during 
the passage, but something else did happen, 
and it meant more to the men of the expedi- 
tion than any mere accident could have done. 

Just as the boats left their moorings at 
Corn Island, although the sky was perfectly 
clear, there came a slight, but rapidly in- 
creasing darkening of the sunlight. It was 
not as if a cloud had obscured the sun, but 
as if the sun itself were slowly going out. 
One after another the men looked up, to see 
what the matter might be, and, after a little 
while, the light had so far decreased that 
81 


LONG KNIVES 


they were able to take frequent glances at 
the sun itself. 

Apparently a great bite had been taken 
out of the disc, and every time they looked 
the black segment was larger than it had 
been before. By the time that the passage 
of the Falls was made more than one-half 
the face of the sun was obscured, and while 
there was not a cloud in the sky the day had 
become as dark as an early morning in mid 
winter when a rainstorm is on. Worse 
still, the darkness was increasing and it con- 
tinued to do so until those who looked at the 
sun saw nothing more than a slender cres- 
cent-shaped thread of light, like that which 
the new moon presents. In brief, a great 
solar eclipse was on, and it was very nearly 
total. 

The men were superstitious and this dark- 
ening of the sun just at the moment of the 
expedition’s beginning, filled them with 
alarm as a portent of evil. Rumors of this 
fear spread rapidly among the men, threat- 
ening demoralization, until, as smooth and 
quiet water below the Falls was reached, 
82 


PARSON BONTY’S SERMON 


Zaccheus Bonty went to Col. Clark and 
said: 

“I’ll preach to ’em, Colonel, ef you’ll let 
me, an’ I’ll give ’em a sermon that’ll stiffen 
up their back bones an’ make men of ’em 
agin.” 

“Do it !” cried Clark, as the closely lashed 
flatboats began floating quietly down the 
river. “Brace ’em up. I don’t know any- 
thing about your religion or your supersti- 
tion, or your doctrine or whatever it is, but 
I know what eclipses are and what they 
mean and how they happen. But I 
couldn’t explain such things to such men so 
as to make them understand. If you’ve 
got anything in your saddlebags that’ll quiet 
their fears give it to ’em.” 

In answer to Clark’s hurried summons, all 
the men on board the boats assembled, and 
the Rev. Zaccheus Bonty proceeded to 
preach to them in this fashion: 

“Men an’ brethren — friends an’ feller sin- 
ners: Ef you’ve read your Bibles half or 
a quarter as much as you ort to, you’re ac- 
quainted with the words of my tex’ which 
83 


LONG KNIVES 


occurs frequently in the pages of Holy 
Writ. Its words is ‘which bein’ inter- 
preted.’ Wherever you run up agin them 
there words in the Scriptur’ you find your- 
self in a hole like a hogwaller o’ misunder- 
standin’, but after them blessed words is 
read, you come to the explanation an’ then 
things grows lighter an’ lighter, jes’ as 
they’re a doin’ now ef you’re a noticin’. Ef 
you’ll look up to heaven as sinners ort to do, 
you’ll see that the big bite what was took 
out’n the sun is a gitten to be a littler an’ a 
littler bite every minute. The light’s a in- 
creasin’ all the time, for which let us give 
thanks jes’ as we give thanks when they’s 
plenty o’ beech nuts in the wods to fatten 
the hogs on, an’ jes, as we does when we’re 
a holdin’ of revival meetin’s an’ some broth- 
er’s spirit is moved to make him contribute 
two gallons o’ whiskey to the cause instid o’ 
the three quarts he fust figgered on as his 
share. 

“But I’m a wanderin’ away from my text, 
the words o’ which is ' Which Bein' Inter- 
preted / Now ef you’ve read your Bibles 
84 


PARSON RONTY’S SERMON 


as you’d ort to, you’ve noticed that every 
thing that come before them words o’ Holy 
Writ was a dark an’ gruesome mystery till 
them blessed words come an’ arter ’em the 
explanation. 

“So it is on this occasion. When us fel- 
lers started out, the sun begun to quit like, 
an’ to your carnal minds it meant that we 
was a runnin’ ourselves into a rabbit trap. 
Some o’ you thought it meant we was agoin’ 
to be beat out’n our boots in this here expe- 
dition. Didn’t you now?” 

There was a murmur of assent which 
closely approached unanimity. 

“Well, that was because the soul-com- 
fertin’ words 'Which bein interpreted / 
hadn’t come yet. As an anointed minister 
o’ the gospel I bring you them encouragin’ 
words. I’m a goin’ to interpret the pecu- 
liar doin’s o’ the sun this day an’ tell you 
what they mean. It’s the same thing what 
was meant when Joshua of old commanded 
the sun to stand still over Gibeon an’ the 
moon to be as quiet as it could make up its 
mind to be over the valley of Ajalon while 
85 


LONG KNIVES 


he licked the life out’n his enemies. Of 
course we don’t understand how the sun an’ 
the moon come to be a shinin’ at the same 
time in that there neck o’ the woods, but 
that’s one o’ the mysteries that makes reli- 
gion precious. Anyhow, we’ve got the ap- 
plication to-day. As soon as we started out 
with Col. Clark to lick the Britishers an’ the 
Frenchmen an’ the Injuns, the sun went out, 
jest to encourage us, like. It meant we was 
a goin’ to blot ’em all out, an’ ef we don’t 
do it it’ll be because we’re unfaithful serv- 
ants of the Lord. Now let us sing the dox- 
ology an’ git to work at the oars !” 

The men cheered, and went to their work 
with a will. They knew nothing definitely 
of their commander’s plans or purposes, but 
they were there to carry them out, whatever 
they might be. They did not know how far 
down the river he intended to go before de- 
barking his force, but they were quick to 
understand that whatever his destination 
might be he wanted to get there as soon as 
possible. So they plied the great sweeps 
vigorously by way of pushing the boats 
86 



“ NOW LET US SING THE DOXOLOGY AN* GIT TO WORK AT THE 

oars ! ” — Page 86. 



PARSON BONTY’S SERMON 


down the river at a speed about twice that of 
the current in which they were floating. 

And as the eclipse passed away and the 
June sunlight came back their spirits re- 
vived and their souls were filled with cheer 
again. 


87 


VIII 

THREE MEN IN A BOAT 

N OT long after Parson Bonty’s sermon 
was finished Colonel Clark ordered 
the flatboats unlashed — that is to 
say, cast loose from each other. 

He had several reasons for ordering this 
change. The channel of the Ohio, even at 
a fairly high stage of water, is in many 
places narrow and crooked and the flat- 
boats, floating separately, might be more 
easily steered through the narrow reaches 
and around bends. For another thing, 
Clark thought his men were less apt to be- 
come discontented if they were separated on 
different boats and kept busy than if they 
were all assembled upon a lashed fleet where 
they could gather together and talk over 
their hardships, their woes and the dangers 
88 


THREE MEN IN A BOAT 


into which their reckless commander was 
leading them. 

For George Rogers Clark knew that his 
men would regard his enterprise as a mad- 
cap expedition if once, by consultation, 
they should come to understand it. In very 
fact it was a madcap expedition, but mad- 
cap expeditions in war often achieve their 
ends and make history in very important 
ways. Anthony Wayne’s assault upon Stony 
Point was so clearly a madcap expedition 
that it won for him the nickname of “Mad 
Anthony.” All the raids of Marion and 
Sumter and Pickens, in the partisan war- 
fare in the South during the revolution were 
madcap performances. So later was An- 
drew Jackson’s night assault upon Paken- 
ham’s regulars below New Orleans, with a 
little band of ragamuffins. But in these 
and a hundred other cases the madcap expe- 
dition completely achieved its purpose, and 
it was in hope of doing that that Col. Clark 
had undertaken his present enterprise. 

Still another reason for separating the 
flatboats and letting each float independ- 
89 


LONG KNIVES 

ently of the others was that greater speed 
could be made in that way. So long as the 
boats were lashed together in a column of 
couples only half the sweeps — those on the 
outer sides — could be used, and George Rog- 
ers Clark was in a hurry. Casting the boats 
loose, he could have all the sweeps on each 
of them double manned both by night and 
by day, and in that way he could make about 
twice as many miles a day as the mere cur- 
rent could give. Fortunately he had men 
enough on each boat to keep the oars double- 
manned all the time, so that his progress 
down the river was rapid and ceaseless. 

When the boats were separated, Clark 
took the lead with one of them, ordering the 
others to follow at a safe distance. When 
the boats were thus brought into a proper 
column, each separated from the others by 
the space of a quarter of a mile or a little 
more, Clark called Tom Harrod aside and 
asked him: 

“Do you know your friends Sim Crane 
and Ike Todd? Can you trust them? 
Will they keep still? Or will they talk?” 

90 


THREE MEN IN A BOAT 


“I can trust them, and so can you,” was 
all that the boy thought it necessary to an- 
swer. 

“Very well, then. Launch one of the 
skiff s and have them get into it with you and 
me. Put in two pairs of oars.” 

Ten minutes later George Rogers Clark, 
Tom Harrod, Ike Todd and Sim Crane 
cast the skiff loose and slowly rowed about 
inspecting the column of flatboats, while 
Clark gave a brief order to the captain of 
each, as to the distance he was to maintain 
from the boat next ahead of him, as to what 
he was to do in case of fog, and as to such 
other things as the young commander could 
foresee as possible. Especially he cau- 
tioned all of them that in the event of an at- 
tack they were to run their boats alongside 
his own in order that they might make a 
united resistance. 

When all his orders were given, the com- 
mander bade the boys row slowly at a goodly 
distance from the flatboats, as he had some- 
thing of importance to say to them. 

“Sometime to-morrow,” he said, “I’m go- 
91 


LONG KNIVES 


mg* to send you three forward in the biggest 
skiff we’ve got, to pick out a place where I 
can hide the flatboats securely while making 
the march inland. It must be in some heavily 
wooded cove, or creek mouth, or somewhere 
else where the boats can be so hidden as not 
to be seen either from the river or from the 
shore.’.’ 

“Somewhere near the mouth of the Wa- 
bash?” Tom Harrod questioned. 

“No,” answered Clark. 

“Then somewhere this side of that?” 

“No. Why did you think so?” 

“Because that would give us the shortest 
march to Post Vincennes.” 

“But we aren’t going to Post Vincennes,” 
Col. Clark answered. “At least, not for the 
present.” 

“Then where are we going? No, I take 
that back. I hadn’t any business to ask it. 
I mean where are we to hunt for a hiding 
place for the flatboats?” 

“Somewhere near the mouth of the Ten- 
nessee River,” answered the young com- 
mander. “You’re right, Tom, in saying 
92 


THREE MEN IN A BOAT 


you had no business to ask where we are go- 
ing, but at the same time I’m going to tell 
you because I shall have to depend a good 
deal on you and your two friends here for 
very delicate and confidential service now 
and then, and you can serve me all the bet- 
ter if you know what I am planning to do. 
But you are none of you to say a word of 
what I tell you — now and hereafter.” 

“Not a word or a whisper,” answered 
Tom, the others assenting. 

“Very well, then. Let me explain. You 
assumed that I would begin by assailing 
Post Vincennes because it is the most com- 
manding of the British posts; because it is 
the one nearest me; and finally because it is 
the one nearest Pittsburg, which of course 
is our base of operations and supplies, 
though Pittsburg is so far away that it 
doesn’t need to count for much. Now if 
the enemy should get wind of our movement 
in any way — and he may, you know, 
through some French hunter or trapper or 
some Indian scout — he will argue the thing 
out just as you have done. He’ll say to 


LONG KNIVES 


himself, ‘The Long Knives are moving to 
attack Post Vincennes,’ and so he will send 
every man to Post Vincennes that he can 
spare. So I am not going to assail Post 
Vincennes — for the present, at least. I am 
going to march against Kaskaskia and Ca- 
hokia instead. If I can capture them I’ll 
think about Post Vincennes afterwards. 

“Besides, there’s another reason. The 
British have won all the Frenchmen and all 
the half-breeds and all the Indians to their 
side. So, no matter where we strike, we 
shall be outnumbered three or four or five 
to one, by an enemy in entrenchments and 
possessed of abundant cannon. Our only 
chance of success lies in surprise. They 
may be looking for us at Post Vincennes. 
Probably they will be. But they won’t be 
looking for us at Kaskaskia, and it is my 
plan either to slip in there without warning 
and make myself master of the situation be- 
fore they dream of my coming, or, if I can’t 
do that, to fall upon them suddenly with an 
Indian war whoop and run over them before 
they have time to guess what our numbers 
94 


THREE MEN IN A BOAT 


are. Then there’s another thing. Ivaskas- 
kia lies very near the Mississippi river. So 
does Cahokia. If we should find ourselves 
overmatched and beaten there, we could 
cross the Mississippi and be safe, for all the 
region on the other side of the river is Span- 
ish territory, you know. Now not a word 
of all this to any human being, you under- 
stand.” 

“We know how to keep our mouths shut,” 
answered Tom, “and you can trust us.” 

“I know that,” said Clark. “Now to- 
morrow morning, or better still, to-night, I 
want you to set out. Chuck a few pieces of 
meat into the skiff for you won’t have time 
to go ashore for game. Take two pairs of 
oars, so that one of you may sleep while the 
others row. You’ll need to get forty or 
fifty miles ahead of the flatboats, and I’m 
going to push them all I can with the 
sweeps. So you’ll have to hustle. When 
you get down there near the mouth of the 
Tennessee, hunt up the best hiding-place 
you can find for the boats, and then keep a 
sharp lookout up the river till you see us 
95 


LONG KNIVES 


coming. On the whole I reckon you’d bet- 
ter set out at once. You won’t have any 
time to spare.” Clark did not think they 
would talk indiscreetly, but by sending them 
away at once he gave them no chance to talk 
at all. 

Accordingly the three boys, supplying 
themselves with a quarter of venison and 
nothing else — pushed their skiff clear of the 
leading flatboat about half an hour later, 
and rapidly rowed down the river. 


96 


IX 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 

T OM HARROD always wanted to dis- 
charge every duty in the best and 
fullest manner he could. So on this 
occasion he hurried down the river with all 
the speed he could make in order that he 
might have ample time to find the best hid- 
ing-place for the flatboats before they 
should arrive. 

He arranged that two of the three should 
row, the third taking a place at the oars and 
relieving one of the others at stated inter- 
vals. In this way sleep would be possible 
to all of them without delaying their prog- 
ress in the least. 

The light skiff, propelled by two pairs of 
oars in the hands of muscular young fellows, 
soon left the lumbering flatboats far behind 
and at the next bend in the river the three 
97 


LONG KNIVES 


boys lost sight of them altogether. A few 
hours later night came on and a haze from 
the marshes and wooded shores rendered the 
weather what seamen call “thick,” but Tom’s 
orders were to push on night and day, and 
he would have done that even without any 
orders at all. He could still see fifty yards 
ahead of him, and as there were no steam- 
boats in those days, he had no fear of being 
run over. 

Now even on the clearest night — even in 
broad daylight, in fact, — it is not an easy 
matter for one who doesn’t know the chan- 
nel and the shores to find his way down a 
river like the Ohio. He comes to places 
where what looks like the broad river 
straight ahead, is not the river at all, but a 
deep bay opening directly in front, while the 
river has suddenly narrowed and turned off 
almost at a right angle to the right or left. 

As the night grew older, the air became 
thicker and thicker, but Tom and his com- 
panions could still see river ahead, and they 
continued to ply their oars with all their 
might. 


98 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


“I reckon we won’t try for any naps to- 
night, boys,” said Tom, as he sat in the stern 
Straining his eyes to see the river ahead or 
the shore on the side nearest the boat, — for it 
was impossible to see even the forests for 
more than half way across the stream. 
Thus when one shore could be dimly made 
out, the other was completely lost to sight. 
“The one who isn’t rowing will be needed as 
a lookout all the time.” 

“Well, if you can stand it, we oughtn’t 
to complain,” answered Sim Crane, “seeing 
that you were out all last night scouring the 
woods for spies while we were sound 
asleep.” 

Tom made no answer. He was much 
too busy studying the shore to concern him- 
self with anything else. So the boat shot 
forward in silence. 

Presently Tom called out to the boys to 
“back water.” When the headway had been 
stopped, he stood up, and scanned the shore 
very closely. It was only a few yards dis- 
tant on his right hand and still closer right 
ahead, while on the left he could barely 
99 


LONG KNIVES 

make it out. Presently he bade the boys 
row slowly and directed their course along 
the shore that had suddenly appeared just 
ahead. He thought he had come to a bend 
in the stream toward the left. But after he 
had explored for perhaps a quarter of a 
mile or a little more in that direction he dis- 
covered what the trouble was. 

“We’re clear out of the river, boys, and 
have run into a pocket,” he said anxiously. 
“And the worst of it is I don’t know how 
far back it was that we ran out of the river 
or how deep the pocket is.” 

The boys began to talk of the situation, 
but he silenced them. 

“Hush. Let me think,” he said. 

After several minutes of thinking he 
spoke again: 

“The river lies over there to the right. 
The trouble is that I don’t know how far 
away it is or how far back we must go to get 
out of this pocket and into the main stream 
again.” 

“How do you know it lies over to the 

100 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


right?” asked Ike. “Why mayn’t it be just 
the other way?” 

“Because when night was coming on we 
were running along the Kentucky shore, 
and ever since then that shore has been 
within sight. So this pocket lies in Ken- 
tucky, and the river lies north of it over 
there to the right. This bay is separated 
from the main river by a spit or peninsula, 
and we don’t know how long that peninsula 
is or how wide it is. Run the boat ashore 
over there.” 

By this time the fog was so dense that it 
was difficult to see even a dozen yards ahead, 
but the boys managed to find a bit of slop- 
ing, sandy beach on which they landed. 

“Draw the skiff well up on shore, boys, 
and then build a rip roaring brush fire, so 
that I’ll know where to find you when I 
come back.” 

“Why, where are you going?” asked one. 

“Hunting,” he replied. “Hunting for 
the Ohio River. You see if I find it isn’t 
too far away across country — that is to say, 

101 


LONG KNIVES 


if this spit isn’t too wide — we’ll drag the 
skiff across and put her into the river again, 
instead of going back to find the mouth of 
the pocket.” 

“But Tom,” Ike called out as the tall boy 
strode away into the cottonwood grove, 
“how can you find your way in such a fog 
as this? You’ll get lost, sure.” 

“There are the stars to steer by,” he called 
back; “they are old friends of mine.” 

The boys looked up. 

“Sure enough,” said Sim, looking up; 
“this fog lies close to the ground and the 
skies above are clear. Tom knows the stars, 
or lots of them at least, and he knows how 
to steer himself by them. He learned all 
that when he was out surveying. He can 
tell one star from another as easy as he tells 
you from me. To me they all look alike ex- 
cept that some are brighter than others.” 

“Well, this isn’t building a fire as Tom 
told us to do,” said Ike. 

With that the two set to work with flint, 
steel and punk, to start the fire. When 
102 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


they got it blazing they gathered dry brush 
and driftwood and piled them high to make 
a huge beacon. 

“ After all, what’s the use of all this?” 
asked Sim, presently. “He can’t see the fire 
fifty yards away through this fog.” 

“No, of course not,” answered Ike, “but 
the fire illuminates the fog all around it, 
making a great white spot in it, and he can 
see that.” 

“I didn’t think of that.” 

Tom was gone nearly an hour. When he 
returned at last the only question the boys 
asked was : 

“Well, what luck?” 

“Oh, I found the river,” he replied, sitting 
down with an air of weariness. 

“Well, how far away is it?” 

“A little less than a mile, I should say, 
and the underbrush isn’t very heavy. 
Make some torches, as quick as you can, 
and we’ll drag the boat across. She’s 
very light and there are three of us. 
Make at least a dozen torches. We’ll burn 
103 


LONG KNIVES 


one or two at a time and take the rest in the 
boat, lighting a new one whenever an old 
one burns out.” 

With that the tired boy, who had had no 
sleep the night before, stretched himself on 
his back on the sand, saying as he did so : 

“Boys, the chances are I’ll fall asleep. 
If I do, you must wake me the moment the 
torches are ready and you must hurry them 
all you can. We’ve no time to lose.” 

It did not take the boys long to make the 
torches, so that Tom got scarcely more than 
a cat nap. The boys hated to wake him, but 
he had ordered them to do so, and moreover, 
they knew as well as he did the necessity of 
haste in getting their skiff back into the 
river again. The fog might lift at any mo- 
ment, and, if it should do so before their 
task was finished, there would be a grievous 
waste of time. 

Lighting two of the torches the three stal- 
wart fellows quickly drew the skiff up to the 
level ground. After that the going was 
comparatively easy, as the boat was a light, 
flat-bottomed thing, built of thin boards, 
104 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


and the grass and weeds that had grown up 
on the spit gave what Ike called “good sled- 
ding.” Now and then they had to go 
around a clump of small cottonwood trees, 
but they continued to make good progress, 
Tom guiding them by the stars. 

When they reached the river the fog was 
thicker than ever. 

“We’ll rest here,” said Tom, “till the fog 
either lifts and blows away, or comes down 
in the form of rain. I’ve noticed that a fog 
always does one or the other.” 

“But why not push off into the river and 
float?” asked Sim Crane. 

“Because we can’t tell into what sort of 
difficulty we might get if we did that. No, 
our best plan is to stay right where we are 
till we can see what we are doing and which 
way we are going. We’ll get a little sleep, 
too,” said the well nigh exhausted boy, 
stretching himself at full length upon the 
sandy shore and falling asleep almost im- 
mediately. 

Ike and Sim tried to follow his example, 
but without much success. They did in- 
105 


LONG KNIVES 


deed lie down, and perhaps they got as far 
toward sleep as a doze, but that quickly 
came to an end, and both of them sat up, 
rubbing their faces and scratching their 
hands. 

“Whew!” said Ike. “These mosquitoes 
are as thick as a swarm of bees.” 

“Yes, and they seem to be specially hun- 
gry. I don’t see how Tom manages to stay 
asleep, only that he was out in the woods all 
last night and is tired. For my part I’m 
going to sit up and slap my own jaws for 
the rest of the night.” 

“I know a trick worth two of that,” an- 
swered Ike. “I noticed a patch of penny- 
royal just up there on the bank. I’m go- 
ing to make myself a bouquet of it and 
brush them off with that.” 

“That’s a good idea. Mosquitoes hate 
pennyroyal, and I hate mosquitoes. So it’s 
an even thing all round. Tell you what, 
Ike, we’ll sit by Tom and give his mosqui- 
toes a swipe now and then, so he won’t be 
bloated up with their bites in the morn- 
ing.” 


106 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


The hours of the night seemed very long 
as the two sat there in silence, lest they 
should wake their comrade. Their penny- 
royal brushes gave them great relief, but 
their hands and faces were still tortured by 
the bites they had received while trying to 
sleep, and now, in spite of themselves, they 
kept dozing off every little while. When- 
ever they did so the mosquitoes took advan- 
tage of the opportunity and assailed them 
in swarms. 

Toward morning, or rather just as morn- 
ing came and the fog began to turn gray, 
Sim called out: 

“Hello! what’s that?” holding out his 
hand. “It’s beginning to rain, and if that 
keeps up we’ll be free to cut out from here 
in half an hour.” 

“Less than that,” said Tom, whom the 
first few drops had waked. “It’ll be pour- 
ing down in torrents presently, and no fog 
can stand that for long.” 

Even as he spoke the drizzle changed sud- 
denly to a downpour, and within two or 
three minutes the fog was so far gone that 
107 


LONG KNIVES 


the woodlands on the opposite shore could 
be dimly seen. 

“Now, shove her off, and jump in. We 
must get away from here quick,” Tom com- 
manded. The boys obeyed, and soon the 
skiff was in the channel and gliding down 
stream at a rapid rate, for the current at 
that point was very swift. 

Tom had taken Ike Todd’s oars and di- 
rected Ike to curl himself up on the bottom 
of the boat and take a nap. Ike tried to do 
so, but without much success. In the first 
place, he wanted to talk matters over, so 
that he didn’t feel sleepy. More important 
still, the rain, which was coming down in 
torrents now, soon covered the flat bottom 
of the boat with two or three inches of water, 
and it really isn’t easy to go to sleep while 
sitting in two or three inches of water, even 
when one is already drenched to the skin by 
the rain. 

So, presently Ike sat up in the stern 
sheets and began asking the questions that 
were troubling his mind. 

108 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


“Do you suppose we can catch up with 
the flatboats and then get far enough ahead 
of ’em to do what we’re sent to do before 
they get there ?” 

“ ‘Catch up’? Why, what are you talk- 
ing about, Ike?” answered Tom. “You 
know the flatboats are behind us.” 

“Why, don’t you suppose they passed us 
during the night we’ve wasted? I should 
think they would.” 

“Do you think Colonel Clark has lost his 
senses? Of course he isn’t idiot enough to 
keep them going in such a fog as that. 
You may be sure that when it came on he 
either ran the boats to the shore and tied 
them up, or else anchored them wherever 
he was at the time. We must have been 
fifteen or twenty miles ahead of them when 
that happened, so we’re fifteen or twenty 
miles ahead of them now. They lost just 
as much time as we did.” 

“I didn’t think of that,” said Ike, taking 
off his hunting shirt and wringing the water 
out of the thick woolen cloth. 

109 


LONG KNIVES 


“Pull for the shore, Sim, and we must be 
a little bit quick about it, too, or we’ll cap- 
size.” 

Both the other boys saw at once what 
Tom meant. The boat was by this time 
nearly half full of water, and shallow thing 
that she was, every stroke of the oars caused 
the water in her to “wabble” to one side 
and then to the other, in a way that threat- 
ened to turn the frail skiff bottom-upward. 
The boys had nothing to bail with, so that 
it was necessary to run ashore, drag the 
skiff out on the sand and pour the water 
out. They had to do this several times be- 
fore the rain ceased, about noonday. But 
these stops took very little time, and be- 
tween times, the skiff was going down the 
river very rapidly. 

“We can make four or five miles to their 
one,” said Tom, in answer to one of Ike’s 
troubled questions. “We’ll have to wait 
for them down there for a day or two, at 
the least.” 

With that Ike was satisfied, and, protest- 
ing that he felt chilly in his water-soaked 

110 


A RATHER BAD NIGHT 


clothes, he relieved Sim at the oars, “just 
to warm up,” he said. Sim, who wasn’t 
much given to troubling about things that 
he couldn’t help, at once fell asleep. 


Ill 


X 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 

W HEN the rain ceased, a light west- 
erly breeze sprang up, and the sun 
came out clear and strong. The 
heat was intense, in spite of the breeze. 
The boys removed their boots and emptied 
the water out of them. Then they wrung 
their socks, hunting shirts and trousers as 
dry as they could. When they dressed 
again they did not put on their hunting 
shirts, but spread them out to dry, and for 
the rest of the sunny hours they rowed 
stripped to the waist, because of the heat. 

After a long period of silence, Ike, who 
was again at the oars while Sim rested, put 
a question to Tom. 

“How far is it to the mouth of the Ten- 
nessee, Tom?” 

“Well, from the Falls to that point,” 
112 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


Tom answered, “it is about a hundred miles 
in a straight line; but following the course 
of the river, which bends about every which 
way, I reckon the distance is more than 
twice that.” 

“Then it will take us four or five days to 
make it.” 

“Not at all. We’ll do it in two days, or 
maybe a little more, or less.” 

“But we can’t row a hundred miles in a 
day.” 

“Yes, we can, with the current to help 
us. You see, the river runs at the rate of 
three or four miles an hour, and that of it- 
self will take us down stream about seventy- 
five or eighty miles every twenty-four 
hours. The oars will do the rest.” 

There were no more mishaps, and choos- 
ing the swiftest water at all times, Tom 
hurried on with all speed, never stopping 
for a moment by night or by day, and so — 
rather sooner than he expected — he found 
himself at his destination, the point at which 
the Tennessee empties into the Ohio — the 
113 


LONG KNIVES 


point at which the city of Paducah now 
stands. It was a wilderness then. 

It was mid afternoon when the boys ar- 
rived, but without stopping to cook a part 
of their raw meat, or to do anything else 
for their own comfort, they at once began 
exploring both sides of the river in search 
of a secure hiding place for the flatboats. 

Of course, the flatboats could not be 
rowed up the river again — they were too 
clumsy for that — but, with his extraor- 
dinary foresight, George Rogers Clark had 
planned to reserve them as a means of re- 
treat in quite another direction. He 
wished to hide them securely, so that if he 
should be defeated he could fall back to the 
Ohio, board his boats, and float down the 
Ohio to its mouth, fifty miles away, and 
down the Mississippi to some secure point in 
Western Kentucky or Tennessee, whence 
he could march his force home again, over- 
land. 

After several hours of exploration, the 
boys found an island — twenty-five acres, or 
a little more, in area — lying in the Ohio 
114 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


River, just off the mouth of the Tennessee. 
It was densely wooded and heavily over- 
grown with an almost impenetrable tangle 
of bushes, vines and cane. On the south- 
ern side of the island — the side facing the 
Kentucky shore — Tom found a deep bay, or 
pocket, extending well into the land, and 
completely screened from view. Here he 
decided, the flatboats should be hidden. 

Having accomplished this, he established 
his own bivouac on the upper end of the 
island, at a point from which he could see 
at least six miles up the river. He could 
thus await the coming of the flatboats and 
go to meet them in ample time. 

But meanwhile, Tom and his companions 
explored both shores of the river, and in do- 
ing so, they found something else besides 
the harbor they had come to seek for the 
flatboats. 

On the northern shore of the river they 
found five dugouts — canoes made by shap- 
ing logs and hollowing them out into the 
semblance of boats. 

These dugouts were not in the water, 
115 


LONG KNIVES 


but had been carefully drawn into a 
dense thicket and hidden there among the 
bushes. 

“Five dugouts!” said Tom, carefully 
studying the “find.” “That means about 
fifteen or twenty men. They’re on the 
north shore. That means that the fifteen 
or twenty men are somewhere north of the 
river. The dugouts haven’t been out of the 
water for more than a week or two, judg- 
ing by appearances. I say, fellows, this 
may mean mischief, or it may mean just 
the other thing. It may mean an enemy, 
or it may mean a reinforcement for Colonel 
Clark. Anyhow, we’ll find out. Take 
hold, and let’s drag the canoes into the 
water.” 

This was quickly done, and with wild 
grape vines for tow lines, Tom and his com- 
panions promptly towed the five dugouts to 
the island, where they had pitched their own 
camp. 

“I say, Tom, what’s your idea — about the 
dugouts, I mean? Why did you bring ’em 
over here?” 


116 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


It was Ike Todd who asked the questions. 

“Well, you see, whoever put the dugouts 
where we found them, means to come back 
and use them to cross the river with. Now, 
that may be a raiding party which is plan- 
ning to run amuck in Kentucky. If so, 
we’ve put a spoke in their wheels. They 
won’t find their dugouts, and they must 
make some more before they can get across 
the river. Before they can do that, our 
friend Col. Clark will be here with all our 
force, and we’ll make sausage meat out of 
them. On the other hand, the men who put 
the dugouts there may be hunters from the 
south side of the river — men off on a long 
hunt in the Illinois. If so, they may come 
back at any minute; and if they do, I want 
to detain them till Colonel Clark comes. 
As we’ve got possession of their boats, that 
will be as easy as skinning a cat.” 

“But why do you want to detain ’em till 
Colonel Clark comes?” 

“Why, so that some of them may be per- 
suaded to join our expedition. You know 
how badly we need every man we can get.” 
117 


LONG KNIVES 


“Oh, I see,” answered Sim Crane, who 
had asked the last question. 

“That’s funny,” said Ike, “when you 
aren’t provided with spectacles.” 

“Then you saw it before Tom explained 
it, did you? Honest Injun, Ike, did you 
see it?” 

“Well — no,” answered Ike, who was far 
too brave a boy to be untruthful, even in 
trifles. “To tell the truth, I didn’t. But 
it’s plain enough now. Listen! What’s 
that?” 

There was a sound of voices from the 
northern shore, nearly a mile away — the 
voices of men calling to each other as from 
a distance. It was the habit of these wild 
men of the woods to shout to each other 
from any distance, when there was occa- 
sion for speech, and distance lay between. 
They were so accustomed to the solitude of 
the woods, and to isolation from their fel- 
low men, that they never thought of being 
overheard, however loudly they might 
shout. When speech was necessary — even 
at great distances — they did not hesitate to 
118 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


speak or shout in any tone that might be 
necessary. But when speech was not 
needed, they were gifted with a capacity 
of silence that could hold its peace for 
hours, and even for days at a time. 

Just now, the men on the northern shore 
were shouting to each other in a tone so 
loud that Tom Harrod could easily make 
out that they were perplexed by their fail- 
ure to find their dugouts where they had 
left them. Listening to their voices, also, 
and their intonations, he concluded that 
they were probably Long Knives from the 
southern side of the river, but of this he 
could not be quite sure, and it made a dif- 
ference. 

“Put out the fire!” he commanded. 
“Then, drag the canoes away out into the 
bushes, and hide them securely. Keep a 
good lookout for the flatboats — though they 
simply can’t get here before to-morrow — 
and wait here while I go over there and find 
out what I can.” 

With that he pushed the skiff off the 
shore, and, leaping into it, with his rifle by 
119 


LONG KNIVES 


his side, rowed silently across the river. 
Cautiously approaching a point on the shore 
where the new comers had at last built a 
fire, he paddled about in the darkness — for 
night had fallen — closely observing the 
men on shore as they prepared their supper. 

Having satisfied himself that they were 
Long Knives, and not enemies, he presently 
pushed the prow of his skiff up on the 
sands, and, rifle in hand, marched up to the 
camp fire. 

The moment his presence was discovered, 
every man in the company — there were 
about twenty of them — seized his rifle and 
sprang to his feet, as if challenging the 
boy’s approach. They quickly saw, how- 
ever, that he was alone, and they relaxed 
their vigilance as a thing unnecessary. 

Tom bade them good evening, and one 
of them, manifestly their leader, the mo- 
ment he heard the boy’s voice, called out — 

“That’s Tom Harrod, boys, or else I’ll 
eat my coonskin cap.” 

Tom looked at the man a moment, and 
then held out his hand. 

120 



Tom looked at the man a moment, and then held out jiis 

hand . — Page 120. 




A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


“You’re John Duff,” he said. 

“Yes — an’ I ain’t a fergittin’ the time 
you an’ me went on a huntin’ trip together. 
Le’s see. That must ’a’ been two year ago, 
or purty nigh onto that. An’ do you ’mem- 
ber that b’ar you killed, jes’ as he was a 
clutchin’ me? He’d got some on his fingers 
into me already, an’ef you hadn’t ’a’ shot 
at the very identical second you did, he’d ’a’ 
made mince meat out o’ my flesh in jest 
about the twinkle of a deer’s tail. I say, 
boys, this is Tom Harrod, an’ he’s all right. 
I’ve hunted with him, an’ as I’ve intim- 
yated, he saved my life wunst jes’ by his 
quickness on trigger. But whar’ did you 
come from, Tom, an’ how did you git way 
down here, an’ what does it mean? Is you 
on a long hunt?” 

The Kentuckians were always hunting, 
but now and then — as was briefly explained 
in another chapter of this story — one of 
them wandered away on what was known as 
a “long hunt.” With only his rifle for com- 
panion, and inspired only by the desire to 
explore new regions, and see new sights, 
121 


LONG KNIVES 


and meet new adventures — in brief, by the 
instinctive human yearning for travel into 
strange lands — he would go off into the 
woods and journey for hundreds, or even 
thousands, of miles, alone and on foot, de- 
pending solely upon himself and his own re- 
sources, in a wilderness haunted by savage 
and so-called civilized enemies, and by wild 
beasts — a wilderness in which no human aid 
could be hoped for, if by chance a wound or 
a fever should render him helpless. 

They were infinitely brave men — the men 
who went alone upon “long hunts” — but 
there were so many of them among the few 
hundreds who composed the population of 
Kentucky and Tennessee at that time, that 
their prowess was regarded as a common- 
place of the wilderness, a matter of course, 
an ordinary incident in the life of the fron- 
tier. Accordingly, Tom Harrod answered: 

“Well, I don’t know. It may turn out 
to be long or short. Where have you fel- 
lows been?” 

“On a huntin’ trip up into the Illinois.” 

122 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


It should be explained that at that time 
the region now constituting southern Illi- 
nois, was known not as “Illinois,” or as “the 
Illinois Country,” but simply as “the Illi- 
nois,” as if the geographical term had been 
plural, and in a sense it was so. It meant 
“the Illinois towns.” 

“Ain’t there game enough south of the 
river?” asked Tom, as he began eating the 
supper of ash cake and broiled prairie 
chicken, which he had been cordially asked 
to share, and which he specially enjoyed be- 
cause of the ash cake, for the reason that he 
had not tasted any but meat food, and raw 
meat at that, for many days past. “Ain’t 
there game enough south of the river?” 

“In course they is,” answered John Duff, 
who was standing sponsor to his compan- 
ions for Tom Harrod on grounds of old ac- 
quaintance; “but you see, us fellers likes to 
go into all the out’n the way places, jest to 
see what they looks like, so to say; an’ so 
we’s been up in the Illinois, a huntin’ an’ a 
lookin’ about, like.” 


123 


LONG KNIVES 


“Have you been to Kaskaskia and Ca- 
hokia?” asked Tom, without seeming to lay 
much stress on his question. 

“Yes,” answered one rather talkative 
member of the returning hunting party. 
“Yes; leastways, I did an’ I had a lot o’ 
f un ! You see, them F rench people up there 
ain’t a thinkin’ about much only dancin’ an’ 
drinkin’, an’ that sort o’ thing, an’ so a fel- 
ler like me could have a good time with 
’em.” 

“What about the Britishers and the In- 
dians?” asked Tom. 

“Well, the Britishers is a watchin’ the 
Mississippi River, purty dost, ’cause that’s 
the only way an enemy is expected,” an- 
swered the hunter. “They ain’t expectin’ 
of any enemy, howsomever, an’ as they’re 
purty strongly fixed up in their fort, like, 
they ain’t a keerin’ much. As fer the In- 
juns, well, you know how fickle they is. 
Sometimes they’s one or two hundred of ’em 
in the town, a gittin’ drunk an’ a raisin’ of 
a rumpus, like, an’ sometimes they ain’t an 
Injun anywheres in sight or hearin’. You 
124 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


know how the Injuns is, Tom. They ain’t 
no sort o’ dependin’ on ’em.” 

“How about the Frenchmen?” asked 
Tom. 

“Well, they’re a standin’ by the British- 
ers, though they ain’t got no partic’lar use 
fer ’em. You see, the Frenchmen is under 
hack, like, an’ the half-breeds don’t know 
nor care much what they are. All the 
French an’ the half-breeds keers fer is to 
be let alone to trap an’ hunt an’ dance an’ 
have a good time, like. They don’t keer 
fer much else.” 

“Well, now,” said Tom, “suppose any 
strong force should beat out the Britishers 
up there, what would the Frenchmen do?” 

“Well, I reckon they’d make friends with 
the winnin’ party. That’s mostly their 
way. But they’ve done got a exaggerated 
notion o’ the sperrit of the Kaintucky Long 
Knives. The Britishers has told ’em as 
how us fellers from the south of the river 
is a terrible lot o’ fellers, what revels in 
blood an’ gits camp meetin’ shoutin’ with 
gladness when slaughter’s a goin’ on. I 
125 


LONG KNIVES 


’spose ’twould work both ways. Ef it 
come to submittin’, like, they’d submit to 
save their skins. But ef they was mus- 
tered on the other side, they’d fight like 
demons to keep from failin’ into the hands 
of the Kaintucky Long Knives.” 

Tom was quick to see the value this infor- 
mation would have for George Rogers 
Clark, and he cherished it in his memory; 
but he said nothing further on the subject. 
Instead, he asked the hunters whether or 
not they were willing to wait a day or two 
on the chance of wanting to join in the big 
hunt, of which he was the forerunner. 

“In course we is,” answered the loqua- 
cious one. “We’s got to wait anyhow, 
seein’s how we ain’t got no canoes to git 
acrost the river in.” 

“Well,” answered Tom, “if you’ll wait 
here for a day or two. I’ll see to it that you 
have all the canoes you need to cross the 
river with. Now, I’m going to say good- 
night.” 

The men were ready enough to agree to 
the waiting arrangement, though they did 
126 


A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE 


not know what it was they were to wait for. 
Their camp on the Illinois shore was a com- 
fortable one; they were in no hurry; they 
had plenty to eat, and the prospect of fur- 
ther adventure was alluring to their errant 
minds. 

So Tom returned to his skiff, and rowed 
across the river to his own island camp. 


127 


XI 


JOHN DUFF’S PROMISE 

T OM HARROD was anxious and im- 
patient. He knew the wilfulness of 
the Long Knives, and he feared they 
might change their minds before Colonel 
Clark’s flotilla could get there. He knew 
how important it was to Clark to receive so 
strong a reinforcement as this company of 
hunters would be if they joined him, and he 
was anxious that his commander should ar- 
rive before the patience of the hunters 
should give out. At any rate, he deter- 
mined to retain their canoes and to say noth- 
ing about his knowledge of their where- 
abouts. That would compel some delay 
on their part, but it might not compel 
enough. He knew how expert these men 
were with their axes, and how quickly if 
they chose they could chop down some 
128 


JOHN DUFF S PROMISE 


poplar trees and fashion new dugouts for 
themselves. 

So Tom’s supreme anxiety was that the 
Clark flotilla should arrive at the earliest 
possible moment. 

On his return to the island he hastily ex- 
plained matters to his two companions, and 
added: 

“Now I want you two to put one of the 
dugouts into the water and paddle up the 
river to-night. Paddle slowly, and keep on 
up till you catch sight of the flat-boats. 
Then — just as soon as you see them — hurry 
back here to report. I’ll take the skiff in 
the morning and row over to the other 
shore, just to keep the men there contented, 
but I’ll be back again very soon. Now off 
with you!” 

The two boys dragged one of the canoes 
out of the bushes, threw a piece of meat 
into it, and paddled away into the black- 
ness that overspread the river. It was mid- 
night when they started and at the earliest 
dawn of day — between three and four 
o’clock — Tom roused himself from his 
129 


LONG KNIVES 


much needed sleep and went to the best 
point of observation to scan the river 
above. 

He could see nothing* either of the flat- 
boats or of his companions in the canoe. 
He therefore jumped into the skiff and 
rowed over to the hunters’ camp on the Il- 
linois side. 

“I’ve come over to take breakfast with 
you,” he said to John Duff. “You see we 
fellows haven’t any bread.” 

“Well you’re welcome,” answered John, 
“but we ain’t got much more meal ourselves, 
an’ so we ’re a thinkin’ o’ movin’ on. Some 
o’ the fellers is a goin to start in to-day to 
make some new canoes.” 

“Can you keep a secret, John?” asked 
Tom, looking the backwoodsman straight 
in the eye. 

“I kin, an’ I will, ef you tell me the 
secret,” answered the other. “I pledge it 
as one man to another on the immortal soul 
of that thar’ b’ar you killed jest in time 
to save me from bein’ cut into strings. 
What is it Tom?” 


130 


JOHN DUFF’S PROMISE 


“Well, for one thing, I’ve got all your 
canoes.” 

“You? Well what in thunder an’ light- 
en’!” 

Then Tom explained, adding, “Now 
listen to me. Col. George Rogers Clark 
is coming down the river with about a hun- 
dred and fifty men. He is going to try 
to conquer the Illinois, and you fellows are 
going to join him and help do it.” 

“Well gee whillicky cracks!” exclaimed 
the old hunter. “Who’d ’a’ thought o’ 
that. But Tom he can’t do it with no sich 
a force as that. You see them fellers up 
there, with all their Frenchmen and half- 
breeds enlisted as militia, kin muster nigh 
onto a thousan’ men.” 

“You forget,” said Tom, “it’s George 
Rogers Clark that’s in charge of this job, 
and he knows his business.” 

“Well for sure he does, an’ it makes a 
difference. Now that I run things over in 
my mind I disremember any time when 
George Rogers Clark ever made a mess of 
any job he undertook to boss. Maybe he 
131 


LONG KNIVES 


can do the trick, an’ even ef he don’t, why — 
well us fellers ’ll stand by him.” 

“All right. That’s all I want. Don’t 
say anything about this affair till he comes. 
Then I’ll bring your canoes over here to 
you and you can leave it to your men to 
join him or go back south of the river as 
they please.” 

“Say Tom,” said John Duff, “do you 
think us fellers is turned white livered?” 

“No, of course not. Why do you ask 
that?” 

“’Cause that’s what your words seemed 
to implicate. Ef George Rogers Clark 
comes down here a lookin’ fer a fight with 
the Britishers an’ the Frenchmen, in course 
w r e’s a goin’ to jine him, an’ it don’t make 
no difference whatsomever whether he’s 
likely to win or not. We won’t have no use 
for them there canoes ’ceptin’ to ferry his 
men acrost the river with. You can count 
on us fellers — every single' feller amongst 
us. We’ll stand by you till we falls a 
bleedin’.” 

That was the attitude of the Long Knives 
132 


JOHN DUFF’S PROMISE 


aiways. They were fighters as well as hun- 
ters. They were ready for any enter- 
prise that involved danger and had a pur- 
pose. They were an unflinching, resolute, 
daring, determined race of men upon whom 
a commander could count as confidently as 
upon the rising and the setting of the sun. 

Tom Harrod had accomplished his pur- 
pose; so he said to John Duff : 

“I reckon I won’t wait for breakfast, 
John. I want to hurry back because I’m 
expecting Colonel Clark every hour now, 
and I must be there to meet him. Don’t 
tell your friends what’s in the wind if you 
can help it, but don’t let them make any 
more canoes, and above all don’t let any 
of them get away till Clark comes.” 

“Here, Tom,” said John, producing a 
huge ash cake. “You said you fellers hadn’t 
got no bread over in your camp. Take 
this.” 

The ash cake weighed three or four 
pounds, and it was very welcome, for neither 
Tom nor his companions had tasted bread 
— except as Tom had done so in the hunters’ 
133 


LONG KNIVES 


camp on the night before — since leaving the 
Falls of the Ohio. 

It was fortunate that Tom did not wait 
for breakfast, for upon his return to his 
own camp he found Ike and Sim there. 
They reported that the flat-boat flotilla had 
been seen about twelve miles up the river 
and that the sweeps were double manned, 
as if to hurry progress. 

Tom instantly cut some strips of raw 
meat, and ate them with a part of the ash 
cake. Then he boarded the skiff and rowed 
away up the river to meet his commander. 
He reckoned that by diligent rowing he 
could encounter the flat-boats four or five 
miles above the island and guide them to 
their anchorage. 


134 


XII 

A GREAT WAR GAME 

T OM boarded Clark’s flat-boat as he had 
planned, at a point six or seven miles 
above the island. This gave him time 
to report concerning the hunters and their 
news from the interior. The report was 
particularly pleasing as it promised a very 
important reinforcement and gave Clark a 
more definite knowledge than he had before 
had, of the conditions of the military prob- 
lem he had to solve, for it had been nearly 
a year since his scouts had brought him 
news from the interior. 

Before Tom made his report, Clark called 
about him his four Captains, John Mont- 
gomery, Joseph Bowman, Leonard Helm, 
and William Harrod. 

The latter was a man nearly akin to Tom 
Harrod and so while waiting for the Cap- 
135 


LONG KNIVES 


tains to answer the summons, Tom inter- 
rupted the conversation to say: 

“I hope you won’t assign me to Buck 
Harrod’s company. If you do, everybody 
will accuse him of favoritism every time he 
gives me a place of honor and danger or 
a good job to do.” 

“You needn’t worry,” answered Col. 
Clark, “I shall not assign you to any com- 
pany. I have authority to appoint you to 
a lieutenancy as a member of my own staff, 
and that’s what I’ll do with you. I want 
some men with me and always at my el- 
bow — men whom I can depend upon. So 
you are Lieutenant Harrod now, of the 
Commandant’s staff.” 

Then after talking matters over with the 
Captains, Clark said: 

“We can do this thing if we go about it 
in the right way. If we don’t we are 
doomed. Those sublimated idiots up there 
at Kaskaskia are evidently not expecting 
any attack. They are watching the river, 
more as a matter of military form than any- 
136 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


thing else. As to an advance over land it 
has never occurred to them as a possibility. 
That’s a lesson we’ll teach them in the mat- 
ter of military tactics. But they outnumber 
us three or four to one, especially if they 
can hold the Frenchmen and half-breeds to 
their side. In a direct fight they could beat 
us out of our boots. Our only hope is in 
surprising them and managing somehow to 
detach the Frenchmen and half-breeds and 
Indians from them. I fancy the French 
and the half-breeds have no very great love 
for their British conquerors; and if we can 
get a chance to negotiate with them we 
shall make them our friends. But the 
trouble is to get a chance at them. If the 
British get wind of our coming, they will 
muster all the French, all the half-breeds 
and all the Indians against us, and plant 
them all in their fortified places to fight us. 
Our only hope is to take Kaskaskia by sur- 
prise. Nothing but secrecy can give us 
success.” 

“That is certainly true,” said Capt. Helm. 
137 


LONG KNIVES 


^But how are we going to maintain secrecy? 
There are always Indian scouts along the 
river.” 

“That means that we must move as 
promptly and as rapidly as possible,” an- 
swered Clark. “We must start across coun- 
try at once. We must move in a hurry all 
the time. We must compel silence among 
the men and we must capture or kill every 
scout who sees us.” 

At this point Tom interrupted. 

“We must get to business,” he said, “if 
we’re going to make the landing we in- 
tend.” 

Instantly the Captains returned to their 
several boats, and under Tom Harrod’s di- 
rection the flat-boats, one after another, were 
safely swung into the bay he had chosen 
for their hiding place. No sooner was this 
done than Tom, with Hawk Camden for 
assistant oarsman, jumped into the big skiff 
and hurried across the river to the camp of 
the hunters. 

Under Clark’s instructions he brought 
John Duff and John Saunders, — the man 
138 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


who had been in Kaskaskia — back with him, 
and presented them to Clark, who ques- 
tioned both of them closely. 

To Duff he said: 

“I want to enlist your men if you can 
vouch for them as good men and true — men 
whom I can depend upon to march, to fight, 
to starve, to freeze and to die like men if 
the necessity comes. I don’t want any rab- 
bits or cowards or skunks that run to their 
holes the moment danger threatens. I’d 
rather have one man, good and true, than 
a dozen or twenty doubtful ones. In fact 
I don’t want the doubtful ones on any 
terms.” 

“Well,” answered John Duff, proudly 
drawing himself up to his six feet four, 
“I’m a’ thinkin’ they ain’t no better men 
than mine. Two or three on ’em has jes’ 
got to go back to the’r famblys, but they’s 
seventeen or eighteen on ’em what ’ll be 
glad to go with you, an’ they’s men what is 
ready for anything from the scissors of 
Delilah to the ten penny nail of Jael.” 

Probably John Duff did not know that he 
139 


LONG KNIVES 


was misquoting Sir Walter Scott, but his 
figure of speech was effective. 

“Very well,’’ answered Clark, “I’ll enlist 
every man of them who wants to go with 
me and when the thing’s over if we are 
successful, the State of Virginia will give 
to every man among them a warrant for 
three hundred acres of land in payment for 
his services. I am authorized to promise 
that to every man in my command. Now 
then Saunders, you offer yourself as a guide. 
How much do you know of the country be- 
tween here and Kaskaskia?” 

“I know all of it, and I know it good and 
fast,” answered Saunders. 

“Tell me about it,” said Clark, who had 
ways of his own in dealing with men. 

“Well, down here on the river they’s cot- 
ton woods you know, an’ sycamores an’ the 
rest. When we git a little ways inland we’ll 
strike the upheaval. That’s a sort of high 
ground that runs catawampus, like, acrost 
the southern part o’ the Illinois — it trends 
from northwest to southeast. It’s a rollin’ 
sort o’ country, with flat praries a layin’ in 
140 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


between, so to say. They’s a good deal o 5 
timber in some parts, an’ no timber at all 
in other parts. Ef you want to go to Kas- 
kaskia by the shortest road Colonel, I’ll lead 
you northwest till we strike the hunters’ 
trail. The rest o’ the way will be easy.” 

“What is the hunters’ trail?” asked Clark. 

“W’y it’s the trail from the east that the 
hunters an’ Injuns always f oilers when 
they’s a goin’ to Kaskaskia.” 

“How long will it take us, cross country, 
to reach Kaskaskia — from here, I mean?” 

“Well, maybe a matter o’ six or seven 
days, ef we has good luck.” 

“We must do it in four days at the out- 
side,” answered Clark, speaking more to 
himself than to the guide; “and we must 
make our own luck as we go along.” 

George Rogers Clark never pursued 
either an inquiry or a conversation further 
than was necessary for the accomplishment 
of his purpose. So now he turned to Tom 
Harrod and said: 

“Take a skiff and some writing materials 
and cross to the hunters’ camp. Enlist the 
141 


LONG KNIVES 


men there — every one who wants to go with 
us — and administer the oath of enlistment 
to them. Don’t take a single man who hesi- 
tates. Set every such man across the river 
to the Kentucky shore and give him warn- 
ing to get away from the river as fast as 
possible.” 

“Now then, Saunders, jump into a boat 
with me, and show me whereabouts I can 
best land my force and provisions and am- 
munition and begin the march inland.” 

Under guidance of Saunders’s sugges- 
tions, but using his own eyes and depending 
exclusively upon his own judgment, Clark 
explored the Illinois shore with minute at- 
tention to every detail that might help or 
hinder the landing. Finally he selected the 
mouth of a gully near Massac and hurriedly 
returned to camp. 

There was a good deal to be done by way 
of preparation, but Clark had a positive 
genius for organizing men, setting each to 
do the thing he was fittest f or, and securing 
the results he desired. Just now every hour 
was precious, and Clark made every hour 
142 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


yield its proper share of results. By work- 
ing all day and all night and keeping every- 
body else at work he succeeded in making 
the landing, securely hiding his boats and 
preparing his force for beginning its march 
by ten o’clock in the forenoon of the second 
day. 

Then he ordered the men to sleep for 
four hours, but he did not himself sleep. 
His mind was too full of anxiety for that. 
Think of what he was doing or undertak- 
ing to do! With a mere handful of men, — 
less than a hundred and fifty in all — with 
means so meagre that any less heroically 
resolute man would have abandoned the task 
as hopeless, — he was setting out to conquer 
for Virginia and the United States, a vast 
territory of incalculable value, which was 
held by an enemy outnumbering his own 
force by six or eight or possibly ten to one. 
The success of his expedition, as he clearly 
foresaw, would mean to the young Ameri- 
can Republic, a future of unlimited expan- 
sion, an agricultural wealth unmatched in 
all the civilized world, a career of overmas- 
143 


LONG KNIVES 


tering glory and prosperity, such as no na- 
tion in all the earth might even dream of 
rivalling. On the other hand his failure 
would mean that the British, securely hold- 
ing all that great northwestern territory, 
would, with their Indian allies, descend in 
overwhelming force upon Kentucky, Ten- 
nessee and all the rest of the American set- 
tlements west of the mountains, exterminate 
the people there, desolate their homes, and 
securely plant a power west of the Republic 
which must ultimately crush and destroy it 
from the rear. 

Never in all the world’s history did any 
man undertake a task so tremendous with 
means so meagre. Never did so much de- 
pend upon the genius, the energy, the cir- 
cumspection of one man. 

He knew he could depend upon his men 
to fight — but of what use would even the 
bravest fighting be, if his men should be out- 
numbered overwhelmingly? What could 
his little company do in a contest with six 
or eight or ten times as many men, especially 
if these men of superior numbers were en- 
144 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


trenched in fortifications, and armed with 
cannon, of which he had none? 

It was his task by trick and device, by 
secrecy, by surprise, by diplomacy, by sheer 
force of his genius, to equalize these con- 
ditions. It was bis hope to make himself 
master of the military situation at Kaskas- 
kia by complete surprise; and, by clever 
diplomacy, to win to himself the allegiance 
of the French, the half-breeds, and the In- 
dians. His task was not merely military; 
the diplomatic side of it required even more 
of ingenuity, cleverness and skill in play- 
ing upon the strength and the weakness of 
human nature than did the merely fighting 
side. 

George Rogers Clark confidently believed 
that he could win the French, the half- 
breeds and most of the Indians to his side, 
if he could get a chance to negotiate with 
them. To get that chance was his most se- 
rious problem. 

The French and the half-breeds, with 
whom most of the Indians were in sym- 
pathy, had been conquered by the Eng- 
145 


LONG KNIVES 


lish, and had very reluctantly yielded 
obedience to their new masters. But they 
had been taught by those new masters that 
the Americans, and especially the Vir- 
ginians — whom they knew as the Long 
Knives — were a peculiarly cruel and bar- 
barous set of men. As a consequence the 
French, the Indians and the half-breeds 
were ready to fight in aid of the British 
for the repelling of any invasion by the 
Long Knives. 

It was Clark’s plan, first to play upon the 
terror that the very name of the Long 
Knives inspired in these people, — thus com- 
pelling them to remain cowering in their 
homes — and then to treat them so gently, 
so generously, so f airly and so considerately 
as to make of them his friends and allies. 

But in order to do that he must push his 
force into Kaskaskia without discovery and 
make himself master there before the Brit- 
ish could summon their French, Indian and 
half-breed allies into the fort for its defense. 

Secrecy, therefore, and silence, and celer- 
ity, were absolutely necessary. But could 
* 146 


A GREAT WAR GAME 


he maintain the secrecy, enforce the silence 
and move with the celerity necessary? 

These questions weighed heavily upon 
Col. Clark’s mind, and he gave to their solu- 
tion those hours that he had assigned to 
his men for sleep. 


14 ? 


XIII 

LOST IN THE ENEMY^S COUNTRY 

T HERE was not a great deal for the lit- 
tle force to transport. In his own ac- 
count of the expedition, Clark says 
that “We left the whole of our baggage, ex- 
cept as much as would equip us in the In- 
dian mode.” That is to say they had no 
baggage at all; no wagon train, no reserve 
supplies of anything but ammunition. 

Every man wore trousers, high boots and 
a hunting shirt. Every man had a belt 
with his “long knife” in it, and with a few 
little conveniences — tobacco and the like — 
hanging upon it. Every man carried his 
long, heavy and deadly-accurate rifle over 
his shoulder. Each had his powder horn 
slung under his right arm. Each had a 
supply of bullets in a small belt pouch, and 
a bullet mould in one oi other of his pockets, 
148 


LOST IN THE ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


and each had a few spare flints somewhere 
about his person. 

F or at that time only flint-lock guns were 
in use. We should account these very 
clumsy weapons in our day, but they were 
the best known in that time, and in the 
hands of the Virginia Long Knives, they 
were exceedingly deadly arms, chiefly be- 
cause of the extraordinary skill of the Long 
Knives in using them. Their accuracy of 
aim has already been spoken of in this story. 
It is sufficient to say here that when one of 
the Long Knives shot at any thing he hit it, 
and when he shot at any living thing it 
instantly became a dead thing. 

The flint-lock rifle was a gun carefully 
made and very carefully rifled so that its 
bullet might go straight to its mark. It 
was loaded from the muzzle, into which a 
measured charge of loose rifle powder was 
poured. Then a round bullet, cushioned 
with a piece of greased cloth called a “patch- 
ing,” was inserted into the muzzle and 
driven down with a ramrod. 

At the side of the breech of the gun — 
149 


LONG KNIVES 


opposite the point where the powder charge 
lay — there was a little hole, about the size 
of a cambric needle, leading from the pow- 
der charge into what was called the “pan.” 
The “pan” was a little metal trough. Into 
it the hunter, when he had loaded his gun, 
poured a grain or two of powder. Then 
he closed it by shutting down a steel trap 
door, which had a curved extension up- 
wards, the whole working on a hinge. 

The flint was securely fastened into the 
hammer of the gun. When the trigger was 
pulled the hammer fell, and the flint, scrap- 
ing down over the roughened surface of 
the curved extension, raised it, opening the 
“pan” and pouring a shower of sparks into 
it. These set fire to the powder priming in 
the “pan” and that set off the charge within 
the gun. 

Once m a great while the powder in the 
pan — called the priming — would go off 
without igniting the charge in the gun it- 
self. That was called “a flash in the pan” — 
an expression which, as a figure of speech, 
has long outlived the gun that gave it birth. 

150 


LOST IN ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


But these were not clumsy guns, so far 
at least as their use was concerned. They 
“missed fire” less frequently than did the 
percussion cap guns which succeeded them 
in use, and scarcely more frequently than 
do the breech-loaders of our own time with 
their metallic cartridges. The chief ad- 
vantage that modern arms possess over these 
guns of an older time, is that they can be 
loaded more quickly and therefore fired 
more rapidly. 

The only things Clark had to transport, 
beyond what his men carried upon their per- 
sons, were a supply of lead with which to 
make bullets, and a reserve supply of pow- 
der. He had so little in the way of pro- 
visions that the men could carry it all, with 
the prospect that it would all be eaten up 
on the march, as in fact it was. 

Indeed the little force had to depend 
for their sustenance largely upon such game 
as they could kill on the journey. To 
secure this Clark appointed certain men as 
hunters, forbidding all the other men to 
fire their rifles, just as he forbade them to 
151 


LONG KNIVES 


shout or to make any other noise that might 
attract attention to their presence in the 
Illinois country. His military discipline 
was the severest these men had ever known, 
but they understood the peculiar necessity 
which required such discipline, and they will- 
ingly obeyed their orders. 

For the first two days the march was 
very rapid, the men actually running wher- 
ever the nature of the ground permitted. 
At the earliest dawn of each day Tom Har- 
rod was hurrying the work of breakfast- 
getting, and by sunrise the march toward 
the northwest was resumed. It was con- 
tinued so long as the daylight sufficed to 
show the men the ground they were walking 
over. 

About noon on the third day Tom Har- 
rod, who had charge of the scouts in front, 
halted them and hurriedly sought out the 
commander of the expedition. 

“John Saunders, the guide, has lost his 
bearings,” he reported. 

“Halt the column, then, and send John 
Saunders to me.” 


152 


LOST IN ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


“He is half a mile in front,” reported 
Tom, “but I’ll have him here soon.” 

“Is there anybody with him, to forestall 
tricks?” 

“Yes, I left Ike Todd and Sim Crane, 
with orders to shoot him if he attempted to 
betray us.” 

“All right. Send him to me.” 

As Tom started off to execute his orders, 
Clark sent for his four Captains and in- 
structed them to inquire diligently if any- 
body in their commands knew John Saun- 
ders or could vouch for him. The inquiry 
revealed the fact that nobody in all the 
force knew anything of the stranger. He 
professed to have lived for a time in Ken- 
tucky, but none of the Long Knives had 
ever met him there. He had certainly lived 
and hunted in the Illinois country, and 
knew it well. That fact tended to confirm 
the angry judgment of the men that his 
present bewilderment as to his whereabouts 
was feigned and that it was his purpose to 
betray the expedition into the hands of the 
enemy. 


153 


LONG KNIVES 


The men were angry almost beyond con- 
trol. They clamored for permission to 
lynch the guide without further ado. 
George Rogers Clark restrained them 
sternly, and when Saunders was brought to 
him he excluded from the conference every- 
body but the four Captains and his per- 
sonal staff Lieutenant, Tom Harrod. 

Then he questioned Saunders closely, ob- 
serving every twitch of the man’s facial 
muscles in an endeavor to read the truth — 
whatever it might be — in his countenance. 

“What does this mean, Saunders?” he 
asked. “You have repeatedly told me you 
knew every inch of this country.” 

“So I do, Colonel. But somehow I’ve got 
turned around, like. Didn’t you ever do 
that? Everything’s sort o’ twisted an’ 
wrong end first, in my head, an’ so I’m 
bothered.” 

“Now listen to me,” said Clark. “This 
isn’t the sort of country that a man easily 
forgets if he has ever known it. Look! 
There’s a hill off yonder to the left, with 
154 


LOST IN ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


a clump of trees on top. There’s a creek 
to the right, with a fringe of cotton woods 
along its banks. There’s an open prairie in 
front, with clumps of trees at its further 
edge. Certainly the landmarks are plain 
enough. If you know this country you 
must know where you are.” 

“That’s all right, Colonel,” answered the 
man in abject distress, “but you see I’ve got 
myself sort o’ turned around, like so that 
one way seems to be t’other way. Ef you’ll 
give me a little time I’ll work it out all 
right.” 

“Very well,” answered Clark, while the 
men were muttering imprecations upon “the 
coward,” “the traitor,” “the spy.” 

“Very well. You shall have two hours 
in which to find yourself. If you do it in 
that time, well and good. If you don’t, 
there’ll be a funeral in camp this afternoon, 
and you will be the corpse. Tom, take a 
detail of men and go with this fellow wher- 
ever he wants to go. If he tries to escape 
kill him. If he plays you any tricks, kill 
155 


LONG KNIVES 


him. Now go, Saunders, wherever you like 
and see if you can make out where we 
are.” 

These conditions were severe, but they 
were necessary. The fate of the expedition 
and the life of every man in that little force 
hung upon them. One of two things was 
certain: either this man was a traitor seek- 
ing to betray the expedition into the hands 
of the enemy, or he was temporarily be- 
wildered. If he proved to be a traitor he 
must die and the expedition must take care 
of itself as best it might by a retreat or 
a hurried cross-country march to the Mis- 
sissippi river and across it into the Spanish 
country. If he was not a traitor, but was 
genuinely bewildered for a time, he could 
find his bearings within the two hours al- 
lowed him, for Clark had seen enough of his 
guiding to feel certain that Saunders really 
knew the country he was traversing. 

Accordingly Tom Harrod, with Ike 
Todd, Sim Crane and Hawk Camden as a 
detail hurriedly led the man to the front 
again. Tom’s reason for taking Hawk 
156 


LOST IN ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


Camden with him was that he had discovered 
in Hawk a peculiar genius for woodcraft, — 
a peculiar gift of finding the way — and he 
thought the Virginia hunter might help 
Saunders to save his own life by finding his 
bearings. 

The little party went out upon the 
prairie, and for a time Saunders stood still, 
looking about him as if trying to make out 
the landmarks and their bearings. Present- 
ly he said to Tom: 

“They’s been a big injun camp here- 
abouts sence I was here the last time, an’ 
the redskins has cut away many o’ the trees, 
sort o’ changin’ the countenance o’ the land, 
like. Lem’me see — ” 

Then after a pause he went to a walnut 
tree and measured off a space from its 
root. Then with his long knife he dili- 
gently dug in the soil, but with no result. 

His two hours were nearly at an end 
when at last he went to another walnut tree, 
on the opposite side of the glade, and be- 
gan stepping off a distance. Then Hawk 
Camden interposed. 

157 


LONG KNIVES 


“Say, neighbor, may be you’se got your 
directions mixed up. Which way do you 
want to measure from the tree?” 

“Northwest, an’ they ain’t no sun to go 
by,” answered the man, sweating now with 
apprehension because his term of two hours 
had well nigh come to an end. 

“I thought as much,” said Camden, re- 
newing his tobacco quid. “Well, you’se 
turned around shore enough. You’se a 
measurin’ toward the southeast.” 

“How do you know, Hawk?” asked Tom 
Harrod. 

“W’y it’s plain enough. Moss grows on 
the north side of a tree, not on the south, 
an’ ef they ain’t any moss on a tree, as 
they ain’t on this here one, the bark is darker 
on the north side than anywhere’s else. 
Any fool ought to a’ noticed that. Now 
see here. This is the north side o’ this wal- 
nut tree. Northwest from its root is this 
way. Now Saunders, measure off.” 

The man did so incredulously, but with a 
despairing hope of finding what he wanted, 
and saving his life. Having stepped off 
158 


LOST IN ENEMY’S COUNTRY 


the distance, he set to work digging with 
his long knife, with all the eagerness of a 
man in search of buried treasure. Pres- 
ently his labor was rewarded. The point of 
his knife brought up some chunks of char- 
coal, and as it did so, the poor fellow fell 
to the ground in what might properly be 
called an agony of relief. For his two 
hours’ term was up. 

After a moment he sat up and looked 
about him after the manner of one coming 
out of a dream. 

“It’s all clear now,” he said, “an’ I know 
my way. I was turned around, like. I al- 
ways gits turned around at this spot, an’ 
that’s why I buried that charcoal there, 
three year ago. It’s my lan’-mark.” 

With that he set to work to bury the 
charcoal again for future use. 

“You see charcoal’s the most lastin’est 
thing they is in the world — more lastin’ than 
rocks or anything else, so whenever I want 
to mark a spot anywheres I jest buries some 
charcoal at that spot, knowin’ that it’ll be 
there nex’ time I come, even ef its a thou- 
159 


LONG KNIVES 


san’ years later. Now Tom you kin tell 
Col. Clark I’ve got my bearin’s agin an’ kin 
lead the column to the hunters’ road, ’thout 
a shadder o’ turnin’ as the good book says.” 


160 


XIV 


THE LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 

I T was on the Fourth of July that Clark’s 
force approached Kaskaskia. They 
seized upon a house on the bank of the 
Kaskaskia River, about three-quarters of a 
mile above the town, ordered the people there 
to remain indoors, and then proceeded to 
collect all the boats that were to be found 
on the river, for use in ferrying the troops 
across. 

Then it was that Zaccheus Ronty went to 
Col. Clark with the request that he might 
be permitted to preach “a movin’ an’ a in- 
spiritin’ sermon” to the men. Clark, who 
had learned to value the influence of Par- 
son Bonty over his Long Knives, responded : 

“Yes, parson, if you’ll preach pretty 
nearly in a whisper and not allow anybody 
to shout. You see we’re within less than a 
161 


LONG KNIVES 


mile of the town, and we might be over- 
heard.” 

“I’ll be keerful an’ discreet, thank you 
Colonel. I only want to put the sperrit o’ 
fight into the men. That’s the sperrit o’ 
Joshua of old when he licked them other 
fellers, jest as we’s a goin’ to lick these here 
British fellers, ef it comes to a stand-up 
fight. I want to put that there sperrit into 
the boys, an’ they’s nothin’ like preachin’ 
to do that, ’cause preachin’ is authorized by 
holy writ.” 

“All right,” answered Clark, “go on and 
preach.” 

Thus authorized, Parson Bonty, busily 
engaged in picking a flint meanwhile — 
the picking of a flint being necessary to its 
efficiency — assembled the men and gave them 
this sermon: 

“When I come away from home I 
couldn’t bring a Bible with me, ’cause the 
only Bible we had weighed about ten 
pounds. But my daughters says to me, 
says they, ‘Daddy, you knows the Bible too 
well to be at a loss for texts.’ So men an’ 
162 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 

brethren, an’ feller sinners, I can’t tell you 
jest where in the scripter my text fer to- 
day is to be found. But it’s thar, safe 
enough, an’ the words of it is: ‘Smite ’em 
hip an’ thigh.’ That means you mustn’t 
shoot too high, over their heads, like; but 
shoot at their middles. That’s the way to 
win in the cause of the Lord an’ overcome 
the prophets o’ Baal. They’s more bullets 
wasted by shootin’ too high than in all other 
ways put together. So shoot low an’ shoot 
to hit every time. Shoot at their hips an’ 
thighs — then ef your bullet flies high it’ll 
catch ’em in the head, an’ ef it flies too low, 
it’ll catch ’em in the shanks or the feet. 
Smite ’em hip an’ thigh ! Them’s the words 
o’ the Holy Scripters, an’ you must obey ’em. 
Now that' I come to think of it, it’s in what 
the schoolmasters calls the past tense. It 
says that Joshua, or whoever else it was 
among the holy prophets of old, ‘smote ’em 
hip an’ thigh,’ but it amounts to the same 
thing. It tells you how he overcome the 
prophets o’ Baal, an’ it’s a allegory you’d 
orter profit by. It means he shot at their 
163 


LONG KNIVES 


hips an’ thighs, an’ you must do the same, 
ef you want to win the battle for the Lord. 
I don’t know what sort o’ weepons the Chil- 
dern of Israel had in them old days, but it 
don’t make no real difference. The main 
thing is to shoot at their hips an’ thighs, an’ 
trust the Lord for the outcome. 

“Now then, men an’ brethrin’ an’ feller 
sinners, they’s some other things to be con- 
sidered. The scripters says, says they, 
‘Childern obey your parents in the Lord.’ 
Ef they only said childern obey your 
parents,’ and stopped there, we’d think 
it referred only to the young people — 
them as is childern in fact. But you 
observe it says: ‘Childern obey your 
parents in the Lord / Now what does 
that mean? W’y it means that we’s all 
childern an’ has got to obey them as is sot 
over us in command, like. Now us fellers 
has got Col. Clark an’ all the Cap’ns an’ the 
Lieutenants fer our ‘parents in the Lord / 
an’ we’s got to obey ’em to the letter. 
That’s what the scripter means, an’ we’s got 
to live up to it. I don’t know how hard a 
164 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 


fight we’s got ahead on us. Nuther do you. 
But as a inspired minister of the gospel I 
tell you, whether it’s a hard fight or a easy 
one, whether it’s a hig fight or a little one, 
we fellers has got only two things to do. 
We’s got to obey our parents in the Lord — 
which is to say our officers — an’ we’s got to 
shoot straight at the enemy’s hips an’ thighs. 

“Now another thought. You remember 
what happened to Ananias and Sapphira 
when they lied to the apostle of the Lord. 
Well that’s what’ll happen to us ef we 
don’t fight as we has swore to do when we 
tooken the oath of enlistment. Now they’s 
jest one other thing to be considered, an’ 
that is this here: We’s away off up here 
in the enemy’s country, an’ when the fight 
comes we’s jest got to win it. They ain’t 
no other road out fer us. Ef we don’t win, 
the Britishers will subdue us an’ the In- 
juns will sculp us, an’ they won’t none of 
us ever git back to our famblys. So you 
see w r e’s jest got to win , an’ when the fight 
comes, we’s got to remember that, an’ stick 
to it like a cuckle bur to a par o’ jeans 
165 


LONG KNIVES 


breeches. They mustn’t be no questin’ 
about it. We’s got to win , ef we don’t 
want our ha’r to be sold to Hamilton at a 
lower price than we values it at. For my 
part Zaccheus Bonty don’t mean to part 
with his ha’r tell he’s dead, an’ I hope the 
rest of you has the same sperrit. Remember 
to obey your parents in the Lord, an’ shoot 
at their hips an’ thighs.” 

While the Hardshell parson was preach- 
ing his sermon, George Rogers Clark was 
making his preparations. He had sum- 
moned his four Captains and his staff lieu- 
tenant, Tom Harrod, and to them he gave 
his orders as to what he wanted done, ex- 
plaining his plans and purposes in order 
that they might the better carry them out. 
He had that afternoon sent Tom Harrod 
secretly into the town in the disguise of a 
hunter selling prairie chickens and squirrels, 
and Tom had brought back the informa- 
tion that Rocheblave, the commandant of 
Ivaskaskia, was not expecting either an at- 
tack or an invasion, but was busily prepar- 
ing for a grand ball to be given that night 
166 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 


within the fort. Tom had learned also that 
nearly all the Indians and half-breeds had 
gone home, so that Rocheblave had only 
his comparatively small force of British 
troops to rely upon in the event of a fight. 
But in addition to these there was the French 
population, all the able-bodied members of 
which had been enlisted as militiamen in 
the British service. 

“Now let me explain,” said Clark to his 
Captains, “the Frenchmen who constitute 
almost the entire population of the Illinois, 
have very little love for the English and no 
real loyalty to their cause. They are con- 
quered subjects. The English have taken 
Canada away from them. They have over- 
run them out here in the Illinois, and are 
holding them in subjection by force. It 
is true these Frenchmen have enlisted as 
militia in the British sendee, but they have 
done so only because they have had a lot of 
lies told to them about us Virginians. I 
found out all that a year ago. The British 
have told them that we are fearful savages 
— cruel, merciless, inhuman demons — mur- 
167 


LONG KNIVES 


derers, assassins and despoilers of homes. 
It is for that reason alone that they are 
ready to take up arms against us. And 
they practically control the Indians. 

“Now my plan is to detach these French- 
men and half-breeds from their British al- 
legiance and make them our friends. I am 
bringing them news that they haven’t yet 
heard — news that the French king has al- 
lied himself with the Americans. When I 
tell them that, they will be ready enough to 
turn against the British and join forces with 
us. 

“The chief difficulty will be in getting a 
chance to tell them that, but I think I know 
how to manage it. At any rate I’m' going 
to try. Now for orders. We are going to 
slip into Kaskaskia to-night — just as soon 
as it is dark enough. With fifteen or 
twenty men, under Tom Harrod, I shall 
myself go into the fort secretly. The peo- 
ple there will be unarnied and dancing. A 
very small squad of armed men will be suf- 
ficient to hold them in awe. The rest of 
you are to terrorize the town. Those people 
168 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 

have been told that we are demoniacal sav- 
ages ; you must convince them that the story 
is true. Captain Helm, you are to arrest, 
chain, and lodge in jail, all the principal 
male citizens. The troops must be deployed 
throughout the town so as to command every 
house in front and in rear. The men are 
to make all the noise they can. They are to 
call out, in French and in English, a warn- 
ing to all citizens to remain within doors on 
pain of instant death, and finally no hu- 
man being is to be permitted to leave the 
town. We don’t want news to reach the 
other towns. Now then move your com- 
mands forward in absolute silence, which 
must be preserved until we are complete 
masters of the town. I will have the signal 
given — the firing of three shots just two 
seconds apart, — when I want the uproar to 
begin. One other thing: keep your men 
moving in such a way as to make them seem 
as numerous as possible. A little effort in 
that way will quickly convince the fright- 
ened people that our force numbers many 
thousands. That’s all I have to say. I’ll 
169 


LONG KNIVES 


take care of the rest. Get your men in mo- 
tion. I will lead, with Tom Harrod’s 
squad. Remember there is to be no sound 
made and no word spoken until I order the 
three shots fired. Then pandemonium it- 
self is to break loose.” 

In absolute silence the force ferried itself 
across the river just as night fell. In ab- 
solute silence it marched toward the town. 
In absolute silence and secrecy it surrounded 
every house it came to, and warned the peo- 
ple dwelling there to remain indoors upon 
pain of instant death. A sentry was left 
at each door and so great was the terror in- 
spired by the Long Knives that not only 
did nobody try to leave any of the houses, 
but nobody ventured even to descend the 
stairs or approach a doorway or a window. 

Less than half an hour after the crossing 
of the Kaskaskia river was made, George 
Rogers Clark was master both of the town 
and of the fort. Rocheblave had expected 
no enemy and he was prepared for none. 
His attention was given exclusively to the 
business of ordering the dance in the fort. 

170 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 


He had here and there a sleepy sentinel 
posted at the entrances of the town, but this 
was solely as a matter of military form and 
not at all as precaution against assault or 
invasion. Tom Harrod, who with his 
squad led the advance, quickly seized 
upon these sleepy and generally sleeping 
sentinels, promptly choked them into silence, 
disarmed them and held the gates of the 
town until other Long Knives came to re- 
lieve him of that duty. Then, with George 
Rogers Clark leading, Tom’s little com- 
mand made its way, secretly and silently 
into the fort where a gala dance was in 
progress. 

Under previous orders from Clark, Tom 
distributed his men around the outer border 
of the great ball-room, every man holding 
a cocked rifle in his hands, and standing 
ready to use it instantly should occasion 
arise, but every man as silent as a mummy 
who had been embalmed three thousand 
years ago. 

The fiddles were going gaily. Roche- 
blave, on a gorgeously decorated dais was 

171 


LONG KNIVES 


gallantly entertaining the principal women 
of the place. The gallants of the town 
were making merry with the gentlewomen, 
dressed in the best that the borderland af- 
forded, when suddenly a big buck Indian, 
who had been lying prone, after the Indian 
fashion, saw George Rogers Clark, leaning 
against one of the posts that supported the 
dancing hall’s roof and looking on at the 
dance. Instantly the savage, who had met 
Clark in battle, recognized him, and gave 
the alarm with a shout. 

The scene of confusion that instantly fol- 
lowed, cannot be easily described. All these 
people, men and women alike, had been 
taught that the Long Knives were des- 
peradoes who revelled in slaughter, ruffians 
who rejoiced in bloodshed, savages who 
knew neither mercy nor humanity. In- 
stantly all these people realized that they 
were in the hands of the terrible Long 
Knives, and Tom’s men, each with his rifle 
at his shoulder, ready for instant use, em- 
phasized every apprehension felt by the 
company. Not a man there was armed, and 
172 


LONG KNIVES IN TOWN 


the company was completely surrounded by 
armed men. Clark had promptly knocked 
the Indian alarm-giver into a condition of 
unconsciousness, and, planting one of his 
feet upon the chest of the prostrate savage 
he called out to the company: 

“Go on with your dance. Nobody is go- 
ing to interf ere. But bear in mind that this 
is the Fourth of July, and that you are 
dancing now to American, not to British 
music.” 

Then he ordered Tom Harrod to arrest 
Rocheblave, the commandant, and his staff 
of officers. After that he permitted the 
people there assembled, men and women 
alike to disperse and go to their homes, but 
with peremptory orders to stay there upon 
l^ain of death. 

As soon as the company had left the danc- 
ing hall, Clark stationed himself outside, and 
waited until the people should have had time 
to reach their homes. As the town was small 
and as the late dancers were in a desperate 
hurry to secrete themselves, this did not take 
long. 


173 


LONG KNIVES 


Then Clark ordered three shots fired at 
two seconds’ intervals. 

Instantly a positively demoniacal racket 
pervaded the town. Every Long Knife 
who knew or had been able to learn the 
French phrases ran through the streets 
shouting in that tongue: 

“Stay in your houses or you will be shot! 
Keep close or meet instant death!” 

All the rest marched about in more or 
less disorderly groups, yelling, shooting, 
running as if in pursuit of victims, and 
making all that was possible of noise. 
Some of them found abandoned pans and 
kettles, which they beat lustity. A few se- 
cured horns which they blew after the man- 
ner of the final trumpet. 

In the meantime the Long Knives, un- 
der direction of their officers, seized upon 
everything that could be used as a weapon, 
and long before morning the entire popula- 
tion was disarmed, and all were cowering in 
their homes awaiting the morrow with un- 
utterable dread. 


174 


XV 


HOW THE FRENCHMEN WERE CONQUERED 

W HEN the morning of the fifth of 
July came, the first of George 
Rogers Clark’s purposes was com- 
pletely accomplished. Kaskaskia was his. 
Its inhabitants were disarmed and closely 
confined to their houses. Its commandant 
and all his troops were prisoners. A number 
of leading citizens had been arrested and 
put into irons. The terror was complete, 
the fear of the Long Knives universal. 

Clark was ready now to work for his 
second purpose, which was, by courtesy and 
clemency and even excessive generosity, to 
win the friendship of those whom he had 
so terribly scared. 

The French people entertained no doubt 
that they were to be forcibly driven from 
their homes by the terrible Long Knives, 
175 


LONG KNIVES 


just as their countrymen, the Acadians, had 
been by their British conquerors some years 
before. Early in the morning Pere Gib- 
ault, the leading priest of the town, together 
with a little group of patriarchal old men, 
asked leave to call upon the conqueror with 
a humble petition. 

Clark sent Father Gibault not only per- 
mission to visit him, but a cordial invitation, 
saying : 

“I shall welcome as a guest and counsel- 
lor a clergyman whose character has won for 
him the unbounded confidence of the good 
French people of Kaskaskia and the region 
round about. Come to me, and tell me of 
the desires of your people.” 

Notwithstanding the cordiality of the in- 
vitation Father Gibault and his aged asso- 
ciates supposed it to be inevitable that the 
French people should be driven from their 
homes. This they supposed was a neces- 
sary condition of war and conquest. But 
they appealed to Clark, not for any re- 
versal of that sentence of banishment, but 
176 


THE FRENCHMEN CONQUERED 


for such amelioration as might be possible 
in its execution. 

Father Gibault presented their petition. 

4 4 As we are to be separated,’’ he said, 
4 'never to meet again, it is our humble prayer 
that we may be penmitted to meet in our 
church, hold a simple service there, and take 
leave of each other before parting for all 
time. Our religion differs from yours, but 
it is very precious to us, and we humbly 
crave permission to exercise it before we 
are scattered never to meet again.” 

The tears were coursing down the cheeks 
of the priest as he chokingly presented his 
petition. 

Clark had expected this and it gave him 
his opportunity. He was ready with his 
answer. 

44 I have no complaint,” he said, 44 to make 
against your religion. That is a matter 
which we Americans leave for every man to 
settle with his God. All religions are alike 
to us. We compel none; we favor none; 
we oppose none; but we protect all, leaving 
177 


LONG KNIVES 


every man free to worship any God he 
pleases in any way he pleases. Father 
Gibault, you and your people shall be free 
to assemble in your church and hold such 
services there as may seem to you best. 
But no man must leave the town without 
my permission, and no man must bear arms. 
Assemble your people — all of them. I will 
set a sentry at every door to see to it that 
nobody shall enter any of your houses dur- 
ing your devotions. My orders will make 
it certain that if any person — whether a 
soldier of my force or any body else — shall 
attempt to invade your homes during your 
absence at church, he shall suff er death upon 
your doorstep. We have come not to op- 
press but to protect you. Go now to your 
devotions. I will stand guard over your 
homes.’" 

With that rapid precision which every 
great commander practices, Clark issued in- 
structions to Tom Harrod, who, as his ex- 
ecutive staff lieutenant, was by his side. 

“Order the several Captains,” he said, “so 
to post their men as sentinels, that every en- 
178 


THE FRENCHMEN CONQUERED 


trance to every house shall be covered by 
a rifle. The orders to the sentinels are to 
shoot without challenging, any and every 
person who shall attempt to enter any house 
during the absence of its owner and his 
family. Any sentry who fails to execute 
these orders shall himself suffer the penalty 
of death. Father Gibault, you and your 
people may now assemble in perfect peace 
and perfect confidence.” 

The news of all this spread rapidly from 
mouth to mouth through the town, and at 
the appointed hour the whole French Cath- 
olic population assembled in the church to 
hear mass, and to take a final leave of each 
other before the dispersion and exile which 
they still regarded as inevitable. So grate- 
ful were they for this privilege of a final 
farewell that they all said a devout Amen 
when Father Gibault introduced into the 
service a brief prayer for George Rogers 
Clark, as “a merciful conqueror who had 
gently entreated God’s people, and had not 
interfered with their devotions.” 

The meeting being over, the people re- 
179 


LONG KNIVES 


turned to their homes under the earnest in- 
junction of Father Gibault to remain there 
and await the further orders of their “mer- 
ciful conqueror.” 

Then, Father Gibault, with his company 
of patriarchs, again waited upon Colonel 
Clark. Father Gibault was the spokesman 
for his comrades and for all the French peo- 
ple of Kaskaskia. He said: 

“We fully realize that our present situ- 
ation is the inexorable fate of war. We 
fully understand that our property must 
be confiscated, and that we must be exiled. 
To all that we are ready to submit. But 
we humbly petition you, Colonel Clark, 
that in the orders of exile men may not 
be separated from their wives and chil- 
dren — that f amilies may not be divided, and 
that we may be allowed, in quitting our 
homes, to take with us some small stores of 
clothing and provisions for those dear to 
us.” 

At this point Clark, with a gesture of im- 
patience and a countenance expressing re- 
sentful surprise, interrupted the priestly 
180 



Father Gibault, with his company of patriarchs, again 
waited upon Colonel Clark. — Page 180 . 



THE FRENCHMEN CONQUERED 


spokesman. In common with most of the 
educated Virginians of that time, Clark 
spoke French as fluently as he did English. 
So, in French he replied: 

“Do you mistake us for savages? I am 
almost certain you do, from your language. 
Do you think that Americans intend to 
strip women and children, or take the bread 
out of their mouths? My countrymen dis- 
dain to make war upon helpless innocence. 
It was to prevent the horrors of Indian 
butchery upon our own wives and children 
that we have taken arms and penetrated into 
this remote stronghold of British and In- 
dian barbarity, and not the despicable pros- 
pect of plunder. Now, that the King of 
France has united his powerful arms with 
those of Ajmerica, the war will not, in all 
probability, continue long; but the inhabi- 
tants of Kaskaskia are at liberty to take 
whichever side they please, without the least 
danger to either their property or their fam- 
ilies. Nor will their religion be any source 
of disagreement, as all religions are re- 
garded with equal respect in the eyes of the 
181 


LONG KNIVES 


American law; and any insult offered to 
any religion will be immediately punished. 
And now, to prove my sincerity, you will 
please inform your fellow citizens that they 
are quite at liberty to conduct themselves 
as usual, without the least apprehension. I 
am convinced, from what I have learned 
since my arrival among you, that you have 
been misinformed and prejudiced against 
us by British officers, and your friends who 
are in confinement shall he immediately re- 
leased”* 

Then came a great change of mood on 
the part of the French inhabitants of Kas- 
kaskia. From a condition of gloom and 
depression they were instantly raised to 
one of ecstatic rejoicing. Their apprehen- 
sions of exile, dispersion and impoverish- 
ment, were changed to confidence, trustful- 
ness and hope. They were free to live their 
lives as they pleased, to go about their busi- 
ness and practice their religion unmolested. 

* This, and all the other formal speeches of George 
Rogers Clark, are copied from his own memoir, and given 
in his own words. 


182 


THE FRENCHMEN CONQUERED 


Those of their friends, the leading citizens 
of the town, who had been arrested and put 
in irons, were released without conditions. 
In return for all this clemency at the hands 
of the Long Knives, whose brutal and mer- 
ciless savagery they had been taught to 
dread, they were not required either to es- 
pouse the American cause or to give any 
pledge not to oppose it. Clark had dis- 
missed all that with a wave of his hand — - 
assuming that he was too strong to need 
pledges, that he and his Long Knives could 
abundantly take care of themselves and of 
their country’s cause, without anybody’s 
aid. 

Above all, these devout French people 
were delighted to learn that their religion 
was to be respected and not persecuted, 
that they might attend their church and 
carry on their lives after the manner of 
their ancestors, without let or hindrance — 
in short, that under the governance of the 
very Long Knives, whom they had been 
taught to regard with terror, they were per- 
fectly free and perfectly protected in per- 
183 


LONG KNIVES 


son, property and religion, as they never had 
been before. 

Their rejoicing was limitless. They 
wept together in gladness. They feasted 
in joy. They celebrated their deliverance 
in a hundred simple but emotional ways. 

And in the midst of all their rejoicings, 
there was another keynote that set them 
singing. This was the news that the 
French King, to whom they had never in 
their hearts renounced their allegiance, had 
espoused the cause of the Americans, ally- 
ing himself with the enemies of that arro- 
gant British power that had so sorely op- 
pressed them. 

In their joyous enthusiasm these French- 
men of Kaskaskia flocked around George 
Rogers Clark, clamorous to take an oath of 
allegiance to Virginia, and eager to enlist 
as soldiers under her banner. The entire 
population made itself American before the 
day was done, and all the young men of 
military age enlisted as soldiers under 
Clark, thus bringing to him a reinforcement 
which he badly needed. For while he had 
184 


THE FRENCHMEN CONQUERED 


successfully won this first step in his cam- 
paign, he still had before him the more dif- 
ficult work of subduing the other towns, 
conquering Vincennes, and forever driving 
the British out of the Northwest Territory. 
With a task so difficult before him, and with 
a force so meagre as that under his com- 
mand, a reinforcement consisting of only 
a score or so of men, was of the utmost 
value and consequence to him. 

George Rogers Clark slept well that night 
for the first time in thrice twenty-four 
hours. 


XVI 


FATHER GIBAULT’s CONQUEST 

G eorge Rogers clark was 

not accustomed to dilly-dally over 
anything he had to do. After the 
manner of all successful military com- 
manders, it was his habit, when he had fin- 
ished one task, to turn instantly to the next. 
Kaskaskia was in his possession. The 
French people there had been won from 
British to American allegiance, and best of 
all, the priest, Gibault, was enthusiastic in 
his loyalty, and Gibault was, in his own per- 
son, a notable reinforcement, for the reason 
that as a priest and as a man of rectitude 
and wisdom, he exercised an all-dominant 
influence over all the French and half- 
breeds in that region. They were, for the 
most part, ignorant and superstitious; he 
was educated, able, and conspicuously up- 
186 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 


right. They had learned to look to him not 
only for religious guidance, but for counsel 
in all worldly matters as well. What he ad- 
vised, they did. What he commanded they 
accepted. What he ordered they regarded 
as inviolable law, and his influence was 
scarcely less among the Indians, who be- 
lieved in the French far more than in their 
British conquerors. 

Under these favorable circumstances, 
Clark ordered Captain Bowman, with his 
own company and a newly enlisted com- 
pany of French militia, to move at once 
upon Cahokia, a settlement nearly opposite 
St. Louis, and possess it. 

The task proved to be an easy one. Un- 
der Father Gibault’s influence and ad- 
vice, the French inhabitants of Cahokia 
promptly took the oath of allegiance to Vir- 
ginia and became enthusiastic Americans — 
the more enthusiastic for the reason that 
they cherished bitter memories of British 
conquest and British oppression. 

Thus far Clark’s campaign had been al- 
together successful. But he realized that 
187 


LONG KNIVES 


so long as Post Vincennes, on the Wabash, 
should remain in British possession, all that 
he had done was liable at any moment to be 
undone by the operations of an overwhelm- 
ingly superior force. Post Vincennes was 
the strongest of all the fortified places com- 
manding that region. Its fort was armed 
with cannon, and it was usually garrisoned 
by a strong force. More important still, 
it was always in close communication with 
Hamilton’s headquarters at Detroit, whence 
the “Hair Buyer General” could at any 
time send a heavy force to Vincennes. The 
place was surrounded, too, by numerous 
bodies of Indians, all of them in the pay of 
the British. 

Colonel Clark’s first care, therefore, after 
he had secured himself in his possession of 
the Illinois towns, was to plan measures for 
the conquest of Post Vincennes, the win- 
ning of the people there to American alle- 
giance, and the making of treaties with the 
Indian tribes on the Wabash, who, if not 
placated in some way, might at any moment 
188 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 

overwhelm him and exterminate his little 
army. 

“It was then,” he used to say in after 
years, “that my chickens began to come 
home to roost.” 

The priest, Gibault, thankful for Clark’s 
favors, came to him by night and said: 

“Colonel Clark, we Frenchmen are very 
grateful to you, and, believe me, we are 
very grateful to Virginia, a State that has 
rescued us from the condition of conquered 
people and made us free again. Under 
compulsion and against our wills we were 
British subjects — we — Frenchmen, who de- 
test the British, and have suffered oppres- 
sion at their hands. You have made us 
free American citizens — free to live our 
lives in our own way; free to practice our 
religion, not under an uncertain tolerance, 
but as citizens of a Republic that is founded 
upon the idea of the freedom and equality 
of all citizens, a Republic that does not un- 
dertake to dictate men’s beliefs or to regu- 
late men’s lives so long as they commit no 
189 


LONG KNIVES 


offense against just laws. I cannot tell 
you how very earnestly we Frenchmen de- 
sire the complete success of your expedi- 
tion and the permanent dominance of the 
Americans in this Illinois country. But I 
can assure you of our readiness to help. 

“I know how important it is for you to 
secure control of Post Vincennes. If you 
will let me, I will, myself, undertake that 
business for you.” 

“But how?” asked Clark, who had been 
expecting some such offer, though he did 
not care to reveal the fact that he had ex- 
pected it. 

“Why, you see, Vincennes is within my 
spiritual jurisdiction. The people there 
are members of my flock. You have seen 
how readily my flock obey me. If you will 
let me go to Vincennes, I think I can win 
all the people there to your cause. I shall 
tell them how generously you have treated 
us in the Illinois towns, and how happy we 
are under the liberal rule of the Virginia 
Long Knives. I will tell them of the 
French King’s alliance. They will hasten, 
190 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 


I think, to take the oath of allegiance to 
Virginia.” 

“But won’t the British in the Post inter- 
fere?” 

“There aren’t enough British there, just 
now, to count,” said the priest. “I have reg- 
ular and secret advices from Vincennes. 
Governor Abbot, who rules in the fort, 
there, has gone to Detroit, leaving nobody 
of consequence in his place. If I can win 
the people, as I am sure I can, they will 
have no difficulty in taking possession of 
the fort.” 

“And you will undertake this mission?” 
asked Clark. 

The priest uttered a little chuckle. 

“My functions are altogether spiritual, 
you understand,” said he. “I should ex- 
pect you to send some one with me to man- 
age the temporalities. I suggest Dr. La- 
font. But while I have nothing to do with 
any but spiritual things, my advice to my 
people, even concerning things temporal, 
is apt to have influence, Colonel.” 

At that point the good priest distinctly 
191 


LONG KNIVES 


winked at George Rogers Clark, and the 
Colonel thought he understood. He had 
seen enough of Father Gibault’s dealings 
with the French people to understand how 
completely, as a spiritual adviser, the good 
priest had made himself master of their 
lives, their opinions and their conduct. 

“Very well,” he said, “and I thank you 
very much. I will send you to Post Vin- 
cennes, with Dr. Lafont as your associate 
in charge of the worldly side of things. I 
will send one or two of my men with you, 
by way of making your journey more com- 
fortable — a huntsman to provide you with 
game, and a man skilled in the art of cook- 
ing it. I will send by you an address to 
the people of Vincennes, and another to the 
great Indian Chief, Tobacco’s Son, the 
Grand Door to the Wabash. In my ad- 
dress to the people of Vincennes I will au- 
thorize them to select their own commander 
and to garrison their own fort with their 
own men, and with the assurance that Vir- 
ginia and the United States stand ready to 
support them in their independence as 
192 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 


Americans. I will organize your little ret- 
inue, Father Gibault, and provision you 
for the journey. You shall set out within 
a very few days, and I assure you of my 
own and Virginia’s appreciation of the ser- 
vice. In the meanwhile, your people here 
shall learn how perfectly free they are in 
their lives and their religion, as American 
citizens. Liberty is the fundamental prin- 
ciple of the American Republic — liberty 
under just laws that restrain no man from 
living his own life in his own way so long as 
he doesn’t wrong his neighbor. I will send 
for you very soon, and have everything 
ready for your journey.” 

Colonel Clark trusted Father Gibault, 
and profoundly believed in the priest’s sin- 
cerity and loyalty. But as a military com- 
mander, in a very dangerous situation, he 
was not disposed to trust everything to the 
loyalty of any one man, particularly when 
that man was a stranger who had recently 
been hostile. So he sent for Tom Harrod 
and told him of the plan. 

“Now, upon pretense of making the 
193 


LONG KNIVES 


priest’s journey easy for him, I intend to 
send two spies with him, with orders to re- 
port to me news of all that goes on. One 
of them will go as a huntsman, to provide 
food, and the other as a cook. I want you 
to pick out the men to go — men you can 
trust.” 

“I would suggest Hawk Camden 
and Ike Todd,” promptly answered Tom. 
“Hawk is the most expert hunter I ever 
saw. I really believe if he were set down 
on a sandbar without a tree, or a shrub or a 
blade of grass on it, he’d find game some 
where and catch or kill it if he hadn’t so 
much as a belt-knife to do it with. Ike 
Todd is a good cook, and he’s a shrewd ob- 
server, as Hawk Camden is. I can think 
of no better men for your purpose.” 

“But Camden deserted from Corn Is- 
land,” objected the Colonel. 

“Yes, I know. But that was under a 
kind of force, you know, and I tell you you 
can trust Hawk Camden. I’ll make my- 
self responsible for him.” 

“Very well. Send him and Ike Todd, 
194 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 


and tell them privately to observe every- 
thing done, and listen to everything said. 
Tell them, too, that if they discover any 
scheme on foot for our injury, they are to 
let me know in short metre, even if they 
have to run away and come back here for 
the purpose.” 

“I’ll instruct them,’ , answered Tom, “and 
I’ll answer for it that they’ll carry out or- 
ders to the letter, unless they are killed try- 
ing to do it.” 

Then, Colonel Clark set about preparing 
his two addresses for Gibault to carry — one 
to the people of Vincennes, and the other 
to Tobacco’s Son, the Grand Door to the 
Wabash. Fortunately, the precautions he 
had taken to prevent news of his conquest 
of Kaskaskia and Cahokia from reaching 
the British had been efF ective, and so, Ham- 
ilton, at Detroit, sent nobody to defend 
Post Vincennes. 

In his address to the people of Vincennes, 
Clark explained that as he had the greatest 
confidence in their loyalty to any promises 
they might make, he sent no troops to gar- 
195 


LONG KNIVES 


rison their town, but left it to them — if they 
would take the oath of American allegiance 
— to appoint their own officers and become 
their own garrison, with Virginia to sup- 
port them. 

Gibault and his party set out on the 14th 
of July, and after a few days arrived at 
Vincennes. There was almost no British 
force there, so that the enthusiastic priest 
encountered no difficultly. He explained 
matters to the people, who, when they heard 
that the French king had espoused the 
American cause, professed eagerness to 
throw off the British yoke, which had galled 
them in many ways, and become Americans. 

Gibault summoned the whole population 
to church, and after a solemn service, he ad- 
ministered the oath of allegiance in the most 
impressive way possible, while they stood 
before the altar with bared heads to receive 
the priest’s benediction. 

Then, upon leaving the church, the able 
bodied men among them, enlisted as troops 
of defence and elected a commanding of- 
ficer, who promptly seized upon the for- 
196 


FATHER GIBAULT’S CONQUEST 


tress, ran up the American flag, and pro- 
claimed Vincennes an American post. 

The Indians round about, who had long 
been in the pay of the British for whom 
they had done much bloody and cruel work, 
were at first bewildered ; but the Frenchmen 
of Vincennes, American citizens now, went 
among the savages as missionaries and ex- 
plained the reasons for their change of alle- 
giance. Especially they told the Indians 
that their old father the French king, had 
come to life again and had joined with the 
Americans against the British who had 
overrun their country. They told the In- 
dians that their old father the French king, 
was very angry with them because they had 
“bloodied the ground,” for his enemies, the 
British. 

And the Indians understood. They had 
always been friendly with the French and 
now that the Frenchmen of the west, with 
the sanction of the French king, had thrown 
off their enforced allegiance to the British 
and joined the Long Knives, they were 
strongly disposed to do the same. But 
197 


LONG KNIVES 


that could not be completely or finally done 
without the sanction of Tobacco’s Son, the 
Grand Door to the Wabash. Clark had 
sent him what he called, in his later report 
of the campaign, “a spirited compliment,” 
to which the Grand Door had responded in 
what seemed a friendly fashion. But some- 
thing more definite must be arranged with 
Tobacco’s Son, before Vincennes could be 
secure against an Indian attack. As that 
would require time and tact, Gibault urged 
the local commander to vigilance, and pre- 
pared for his own return to Kaskaskia with 
the good news of his success. 


198 


XVII 

hawk camden's letter 


H AWK CAMDEN’S skill in catch- 
ing wild things extended to snakes 
as well as to birds and beasts. He 
could go into the woods, lie down on his 
back, and call squirrels and birds to him. 
He would feed them out of his hand, and 
presently they would permit him to caress 
them with his great, horny hands. But best 
of all he loved snakes, and he nearly always 
had three or four of these creatures coiled 
up in the pockets of his hunting shirt. He 
did not remove their fangs, as naturalists 
do, who have curiosity rather than affec- 
tion, for wild creatures. He considered 
that a cruelty and a wrong. “How would 
you like to have your teeth jerked out with 
a handkerchief?” he used to ask when the 
thing was suggested. He was by nature 
199 


HAWK CAMDEN’S LETTER 


and by habit a wild man of the woods and 
the fields, and his sympathy with other wild 
creatures was abundant. 

The wild creatures seemed to know this. 
He could lie down in the prairie grass, 
cluck a little, whistle a little, and presently 
gather around him a flock of the grouse 
known as prairie chickens. These are al- 
most, if not quite, the wildest and shyest of 
feathered animals, but they recognized in 
Hawk Camden a friend who intended no 
harm to them. He killed game when he 
needed it for food, but he did so always in 
a fair contest, shooting birds only on the 
wing, and beasts only in full flight. Never 
would he take advantage of the confidence 
reposed in him by wild creatures at his own 
invitation. Prairie chickens, quails, squir- 
rels and the like, that came at his call, were 
perfectly safe in their intercourse with 
him. He would never take game he needed 
by any species of treachery. When he 
wanted to kill game he went out with his 
gun, and, as he expressed it, “played fa’r.” 

But snakes were his special companions, 
200 


HAWK CAMDEN’S LETTER 


as they are with many Indians, and, hand- 
ling them gently, as he always did, he was 
never bitten by any of them. 

When he saw clearly how things were 
going at Vincennes, he knew how Colonel 
Clark would welcome news of it all, and he 
determined to send him news. 

He hunted out an Indian boy whom he 
felt that he could trust — one who could 
travel at a trot all day, and at a run 
much of the time. To him Hawk made a 
tempting offer. 

“Ef you’ll take a letter from me, an’ 
take it to Ivaskaskia in jest a little less’n 
no time, I’ll give you two beautiful rattlers 
and three copperheads for luck.” 

With that he withdrew the serpents from 
his pockets and exhibited them in all their 
beauty. 

The Indian boy eyed them greedily, and, 
as he thought nothing of a journey of two 
or three hundred miles across the prairies, 
he eagerly assented. Hawk gave him the 
snakes, and then set to work laboriously to 
write his letter. It ran in this wise: 

201 


LONG KNIVES 


“Kernel Clark — Honored Sir: This 
heer preest is a doin things up brown, as 
the feller says. He has skooped in all 
these heere peepil an they has tooken the 
oth of alleygyence, They has tooken the 
fort an theys masters of the town, an they 
seems mitey hapy over it. The Injuns 
dont seem to understan it yit, but theys im- 
prest. You no how it is with the Injuns. 
Tha cant think much at a time. Thay 
thinks a little an then thay gits tired an 
leaves it all over til anuther time. Stil i 
opinion its oil rite. This heer preest is a 
workin with em. Hes a sendin the leadin 
sittizens to argyfy with em an to tell em 
about thayre French father a bein mad 
with em fer bloodyin the groun fer his 
ennymys the british. Thay’l al com roun 
rite you may bet on that. 

So no more at present 

Yores tel deth 

Hawk Camden.” 

“P. S. I jes thot hows youd like to heer 
about this, so dont blame me fer ritin. He 
stay heer tel the preest says go, an then lie 
202 


HAWK CAMDEN’S LETTER 


go with him. Thems yore orders ef i 
krectly understans em. Any how He stik 
tel the cows kums home, an they aint any 
kows to speek of in this heer reggin. The 
Injuns eats em all up. 

Yores tel deth 

Hawk Camden.” 

Hawk’s letter reached Colonel Clark sev- 
eral days before Gibault and his party ar- 
rived at Kaskaskia on their return journey, 
and it mightily relieved his mind. He said 
to Tom Harrod: 

“Your friend Hawk Camden is a faith- 
ful fellow, and he has a lot of shrewd com- 
mon sense, even if he can’t spell the same 
word twice in the same way.” 

It was not until the beginning of August 
that Father Gibault returned to Kaskaskia, 
accompanied by several of the leading men 
of Vincennes, who were enthusiastic in 
their new American allegiance. 

On the surface, George Rogers Clark’s 
expedition had been completely successful. 
He was master now of the Illinois towns, 
and Vincennes itself was under his control. 

203 


LONG KNIVES 


Nevertheless, he was filled with anxiety and 
apprehension. 

The term for which his men had been 
enlisted was expiring, and he had no au- 
thority to reenlist them. If he should send 
them home, there would be nobody to hold 
what he had conquered, no force with which 
to complete the work he had done and to 
render it permanent. If these men should 
now go home, the expedition might as well 
never have started. 

Another thing. He had no confidence 
in the ability^ or disposition of the people 
of Vincennes to hold that most important 
of all posts against any determined force 
that Hamilton might send from Detroit to 
reconquer it. 

Still another thing was that he had not 
yet made binding treaties with the Indians, 
either those on the Wabash or those in the 
region of the Illinois towns. 

In a word, his work was so far unfinished 
that all of it must go for nothing if he could 
not complete it, and without a military 
force he could do nothing. 

204 


HAWK CAMDEN’S LETTER 


He decided to usurp authority and reen- 
list his men. As he naively explained it in 
his later account of the matter, “to aban- 
don the country and all the prospects that 
opened to our view in the Indian Depart- 
ment at this time, for the want of instruc- 
tion in certain cases, I thought would 
amount to a reflection on government, as 
having no confidence in me. I resolved to 
usurp all the authority necessary to carry 
my points. I had the greater part of our 
troops reenlisted, on a different establish- 
ment.” 

That is to say, he reenlisted all of the 
Long Knives who were willing to stay with 
him, sending the rest of them back to the 
Falls of the Ohio under Col. William Linn, 
there to be discharged. To make good the 
loss of those who would not reenlist under 
his usurped authority, he enlisted French- 
men of the Illinois towns, and commissioned 
an enterprising young Frenchman to com- 
mand them. 

It was necessary for him still further to 
weaken himself by sending one of his most 
205 


LONG KNIVES 


efficient officers, Captain John Montgom- 
ery, to Virginia, with despatches to the 
Government, praying that his usurpation 
of authority in the reenlistment of the 
troops might be sanctioned, and that his 
promises of land grants to the men in re- 
turn for their services, might be legalized. 

It would take several months, as he very 
well knew, to get a reply from this appeal 
to the authorities at Williamsburg, in East- 
ern Virginia. In the meanwhile, he took 
that reply for granted, and went on with 
his work precisely as if his authority had 
been sent to him, and not usurped. He 
sent Captain Bowman, with troops, to gar- 
rison Cahokia, and established Captain Wil- 
liams in command at Kaskaskia. He was 
still very uneasy with regard to Vincennes. 
He did not distrust the sincerity or the loy- 
alty of the people there, but he had very lit- 
tle, if any, confidence in their ability and res- 
olution in the defence of the town and fort 
in case Hamilton should send a strong f orce 
to assail them. He wanted an American 
officer there, and while his work of treaty- 
206 


HAWK CAMDEN’S LETTER 


making with the Indians of the Illinois was 
unfinished, he felt that he could ill spare any 
of the officers upon whom he relied for sup- 
port and assistance. It would be many 
weeks, and perhaps many months, before he 
could get matters at Kaskaskia into such 
shape as to send a garrison of his own men 
to Vincennes. 

In the meanwhile, however, he decided to 
detach Captain Leonard Helm for that 
duty. Captain Helm was a Virginian of 
the old, duty-loving school — a man who 
never flinched from danger or faltered in 
the face of difficulty. He was, as Clark 
describes him, “past the meridian of life,” 
but he was still as vigorous as any of the 
young Long Knives under his command. 
He knew all the wiles of the huntsman — all 
the lore of woodcraft. He was discreetly 
cautious when caution was necessary, and 
daringly audacious when audacity seemed 
to be needed. In a word, without being a 
great commander, fit to handle armies and 
conduct campaigns, he was a man abund- 
antly to be trusted to carry out orders in 
207 


LONG KNIVES 


the execution of his commanding officer’s 
plans. If he could have taken a company 
or so of the Long Knives with him to 
Vincennes, he would have held that place 
against all comers. But in that case we 
should have lost one of the most heroic and 
dramatic stories in American history — the 
story of George Rogers Clark’s conquest 
of Vincennes, which remains to be told in 
this volume. 


208 


XVIII 


THE TOBACCO^ SON, THE GRAND DOOR TO THE 
WABASH 

G eorge Rogers clark was 

usually a man of few words. He 
was in the habit of doing his own 
thinking without much of consultation with 
others, reaching his own conclusions with- 
out asking anybody’s opinion or advice, and 
acting upon those conclusions without so- 
liciting anybody’s approval. 

But he and Tom Harrod stood in pecu- 
liar relations with each other, as the history, 
already given of their intimacy, has shown. 
So Tom Harrod freely asked him ques- 
tions which nobody else dared ask him at 
all. About this time, Tom, lying upon his 
back, one day, with his hands clasped under 
his head, and with his legs extended, said to 
his commander, or asked him, rather: 

209 


LONG KNIVES 


“Why don’t you finish the job here?” 

“How do you mean?” asked Clark, who 
was smoking a corn-cob pipe. 

“Why don’t you send for the Indians and 
make treaties with them, and thus set your- 
self free to use your force in any way you 
please?” 

Clark puffed at his pipe for a full min- 
ute before he replied. 

“Tom,” he said, “that’s the biggest mis- 
take the white people of this country ever 
made.” 

“What is?” 

“Why, sending for the Indians and ask- 
ing them to make treaties. It makes beg- 
gars of us. It means to the Indians that 
we are so terribly afraid of them that we 
crave peace and amity at their hands on any 
terms. Now, I propose to have the thing 
the other way around. We are conquerors 
here. If the Indians round about want 
war with us they can have it. If they want 
peace under treaties, they must ask for it. 
I tell you, Tom, we have spoiled the In- 
dians and taught them that we are afraid 
210 


THE TOBACCO’S SON 


of them. We have been suppliants where 
we should have been the dictators of terms. 
I have decided upon an opposite policy. I 
am here, not as a petitioner for anybody’s 
favor, but as a conqueror. If the Indians 
want peace, they must ask for it, and they 
must give guarantees of good behavior. I 
shall not ask them to make treaties. They 
must ask me.” 

Tom lay silent for awhile, with his hands 
clasped under his head. Then, he said: 

“I reckon you are right, but it costs time. 
Still, I reckon you’re right, and from what 
I hear, the Indians are seriously thinking 
of coming to ask for terms.” 

“What do you hear, Tom?” 

“Why, Hawk Camden has been out 
among them — you know he prowls about 
everywhere — and he says they have been 
waiting for you to send for them till they 
are tired and scared. As you have not sent 
for them, and as you don’t seem disposed 
to do so, they are beginning to fear that 
you don’t want to make treaties with them, 
but are planning a general war upon them. 

211 


LONG KNIVES 


They don’t know how many men you have 
with you. You see, we made these French 
people think — with all our yelling and that 
sort of thing — that we numbered many 
thousands, and you have so rigidly excluded 
the Indians from the town that they don’t 
at all know how strong or how weak we 
are. They’re afraid you’re only getting a 
‘good ready’ to exterminate them all.” 

“That is excellent,” answered Clark. 
“That is precisely what I want them to 
think. What has Hawk Camden told 
them?” 

“Well, I’m afraid Hawk has lied a little. 
He has said that when we came here we had 
only a thousand men or so, but that addi- 
tional troops have been coming up every 
day till now he can’t count them. The In- 
dians are scared, and it’s my opinion they’ll 
send delegations about to-morrow or next 
day to ask for treaties.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Clark “Excellent! 
But it is sooner than I had hoped. Now, I 
wish you to give special orders to the sen- 
tries to let no Indian — man, woman or 
212 


THE TOBACCO’S SON 


child — into the town until treaties are 
made. They must not find out how weak 
our force is. They must be out of whis- 
key by this time, and they’ll be sending in 
for supplies. I want every one of them 
shut out. Go and give the orders, Tom, 
and add this order: If any Indian manages, 
under any pretext, or by any trick, to get 
into the town, he is not to be allowed to get 
out again. Give the orders yourself, not 
only at the gate, but everywhere else where 
a man might slip in or out. This is vitally 
important.” 

Tom promptly quitted his lazily recum- 
bent posture and nimbly set off to execute 
his orders. At last he understood his 
chief’s policy, and he saw that it was wise. 
He was accustomed to believe in George 
Rogers Clark, even when he did not under- 
stand that Napoleonic commander’s pol- 
icies. This time he understood them, and 
they seemed to him altogether good. 

In the meanwhile, Clark was every day 
hearing good news from Vincennes. 

Captain Helm reported by his couriers, 
213 


LONG KNIVES 


that he had delivered to Tobacco’s Son, the 
Grand Door to the Wabash, the message 
which Clark had sent him, and that it had 
had its effect. Tobacco’s Son was a very 
Grand Door, indeed ; so grand a door that it 
took several days to unlock it and to satisfy 
his extraordinary dignity. Clark’s speech, 
with the belt of wampum which accompa- 
nied it, had evidently made an impression 
upon the Grand Door to the Wabash, but 
the Grand Door to the Wabash was a delib- 
erate personage, not to be won over too 
easily. He had no mind to compromise his 
exalted dignity by yielding to the persua- 
sions of a white commander without due 
delay and consideration and consultation, 
and all the rest of it. The rascal’s mind was 
made up from the beginning, of course, 
but he had to go through the forms of ma- 
ture deliberation by way of saving his dig- 
nity. 

So, when Captain Helm delivered 
Clark’s letter, with the belt of wampum, 
the Indian graciously replied that he was 
glad to meet one of the chiefs of the Long 
214 


THE TOBACCO’S SON 


Knives. He said that he had united him- 
self with the British, but that he had al- 
ways thought they “looked gloomy.” He 
pointed out to Captain Helm that the letter 
from Colonel Clark was a document of 
great importance, and that the matters pre- 
sented in it were not such as could be de- 
cided in a hurry. He must consult his 
counsellors, he said, and he begged Captain 
Helm to be patient and allow him time for 
deliberation. 

Captain Helm was equally dignified and 
ceremonious, so that it took a good while to 
bring the negotiations to anything resem- 
bling a result. At last, however, The To- 
bacco’s Son, the Grand Door to the Wa- 
bash, informed Captain Helm that he now, 
for the first time, understood the war be- 
tween the British and the Americans; that 
as the British and the Americans spoke the 
same language, and seemed to be the same 
people, he had felt himself in the dark as to 
the matter. Now, however, he said, the sky 
was cleared up, and he saw clearly that the 
Long Knives had the right of the matter. 

215 


LONG KNIVES 


This meant, of course, that The Tobacco’s 
Son, the Grai^d Door to the Wabash, was 
convinced that George Rogers Clark was 
the winner of the war game, and that the 
best policy the Indians on the Wabash 
could pursue, was to ally themselves with 
the Americans. Tobacco’s Son added the 
suggestion, which was doubtless a potent 
consideration in his mind, that if the Brit- 
ish should win in the war, they might treat 
the Indians as they had tried to treat the 
Americans. For that reason, he said, he 
would tell all the Indians on the Wabash 
never again to bloody the ground for the 
British. 

Having said all this, The Tobacco’s Son, 
the Grand Door to the Wabash, suddenly 
arose, slapped his chest and said: 

‘T am a man, and a big Injun. I am 
now one of the Long Knives, and I’ll 
fight with them, not with the British any 
more.” 

Then he siezed Captain Helm’s hand and 
shook it warmly. All the other chiefs did 
the same^ pledging themselves thereafter to 
216 


THE TOBACCO’S SON 

stand with the Americans, and not with the 
British. 

It was a great victory, thus to detach 
from the British their Indian allies and to 
make Americans of them. And The To- 
bacco’s Son, the Grand Door to the Wa- 
bash, kept faith like a man and a warrior, 
or “big Injun,” which was the Indian equiv- 
alent for warrior — at least until the Brit- 
ish came. He instantly sent out his run- 
ners to all the tribes over which he had any 
sort of influence, telling them that he had 
allied himself with the Long Knives, and 
urging them to do the same. 

So overmastering was his influence — 
though we have no means of finding out 
upon what it was based — that almost imme- 
diately all the Indians, from Vincennes to 
Lake Michigan and the river St. Joseph, 
in what is now Indiana, swore allegiance to 
the American cause. 

In the meanwhile, the Frenchmen every- 
where, and especially the French gentle- 
men and men of substance, vied with each 
other in the work of converting the country 
217 


LONG KNIVES 


into an American possession, its white peo- 
ple into American citizens, and its Indians 
and half-breeds into allies of the Amer- 
icans. 


218 




XIX 


A COUNCIL FIRE 

T HE influence of The Tobacco’s Son 
was great, and so was that of the 
French gentlemen, to whom for gen- 
erations past the Indians had looked for 
guidance, and whom they implicitly trusted. 
These Frenchmen were nearly all of them 
traders, who bought furs and the like of the 
Indians, and sold them blankets, sugar, salt 
meats, calicos, knives, powder and what- 
ever else they wanted. After Clark’s fair 
dealing with them at Kaskaskia, they very 
greatly desired that American influence 
should dominate the Northwest, and that 
the Indians should become allies of the 
Americans. They had three reasons for 
this. 1. The Americans offered them lib- 
erty instead of mere tolerance. Under 
English rule they were permitted, as a fa- 
219 


LONG KNIVES 


vor, to practice their religion and carry on 
their trade, subject to some annoying re- 
strictions. The Americans off ered them ab- 
solute liberty, protecting them, both in re- 
ligion and trade, precisely as all American 
citizens were protected. In a word, under 
British rule these Frenchmen were con- 
quered subjects, while under American rule 
they were American citizens, equally free 
with all other American citizens. 

2. These Frenchmen hated the British, 
with the intensity of a tradition of enmity 
that had endured through generations. 
They rejoiced in an opportunity to throw 
off a yoke that sorely oppressed them, and 
thus to deal a telling blow at their ancient 
enemies. 

3. They clearly saw that if the Indians 
of the Northwest could be detached from 
the British interest and brought into al- 
liance with the Americans a great, rich field 
for trade would be opened to them in Ken- 
tucky, Indiana, and the regions south. 

Trade always thrives upon peace. 
Everywhere in the world and ever since 
220 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


the world began, the traders have been ad- 
vocates and apostles of peace. The Ameri- 
can alliance meant peace to the traders of 
the Northwest, and therefore they welcomed 
it and devoted themselves to its accomplish- 
ment. 

They sent out agents to the Indians, urg- 
ing them to seek peace with the terrible 
Long Knives, whose fierceness and power 
they exaggerated, but whose good disposi- 
tion toward those who made peace with them 
they described as limitless. 

But while all these messages were going 
out from The Tobacco’s Son, the Grand 
Door to the Wabash, and from the French 
gentlemen of the Illinois whose influence 
was even greater than that of the “big In- 
jun,” not one word went to the Indians from 
George Rogers Clark, the conqueror. 
After his address to The Tobacco’s Son, 
the Grand Door to the Wabash, he had sat 
silent by his camp fire, not deigning to so- 
licit favors or to court peace, or even to sug- 
gest treaties. 

To the Indians his silence and his ap- 
221 


LONG KNIVES 


parent indifference to their attitude was 
the most alarming fact of all. They inter- 
preted it to mean that he had somewhere 
within call a force so overwhelming that 
he could afford to treat their own doings 
with contemptuous indifference. 

It was a daring policy that he pursued, 
but, as the result showed, it was a wise one, 
and it was successful. The now thoroughly 
frightened Indians, sent delegations to Ca- 
hokia and Kaskaskia to beg for treaties of 
peace with the Great Chief of the Long 
Knives. 

Clark met their requests with courtesy, 
but with an indifference which still further 
suggested that he was too strong to care 
very greatly what the outcome of negotia- 
tions might be, or whether there should be 
any negotiations at all, or not. 

It was only in response to their own ur- 
gent and insistent petitionings that he at 
last agreed to meet them, and to consider 
the matter of treaties. Arrogance had al- 
ways been the chief capital on which the 
Indians traded. George Rogers Clark 
222 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


seized upon arrogance and self-confidence, 
and what the men under him called “bluff,” 
as his own best resource. 

When at last he met the Indian Chiefs 
in response to their urgent solicitations, he 
left it to them to open negotiations, assum- 
ing on his own part an attitude of sublime 
indifference, quite as if he did not care what 
the Indians might do or leave undone, quite 
as if he were able to cope with any situa- 
tion they might choose to create, and quite 
as if any treaty he might make with them 
would be a generous and gracious favor 
granted to them by virtue of his good na- 
ture and not at all for the purpose of se- 
curing their friendship. It was his policy 
to convince them that the Long Knives 
were strong enough not to need their friend- 
ship and not to regard their enmity as a 
matter of much consequence. 

The first great council was held at Ca- 
hokia, and it was evident from the beginning 
that the Indians were fearfully scared by 
the stories told to them by the agents of 
The Tobacco’s Son, the Grand Door to the 
223 


LONG KNIVES 


Wabash, and by the emissaries of the French 
merchants and traders. They were clam- 
orous for peace and for treaties, and even 
the dignity of their great chiefs stood only 
slightly in their way. 

It was the end of August, or nearly that, 
when this first great council assembled. 
Clark sat in state with only Captain Bow- 
man and Tom Harrod by his side, and with 
Hawk Camden and Ike Todd, sitting on 
the ground behind him, ready to serve as 
his couriers if they should be needed. 

The Indians, gorgeously decorated with 
beads and frills and feathers, were squatted 
upon the ground, facing him. 

The Indians expected Clark to open the 
conference, but he did nothing of the kind. 
He sat still, saying nothing, as if he had 
nothing to say. He had not sought this 
conference. The “big Injuns” had asked 
for it. He wished that fact to be impressed 
upon their minds. They had wanted speech 
of him. Very well. He was there, ready 
to hear anything they might have to say, 
but while waiting for them to open nego- 
224 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


tiations he manifested no desire to say any- 
thing himself. He was the conqueror — 
they the suppliants. It was for them to tell 
him what they wanted. It was his well 
considered policy to make them understand 
that while he was generously disposed to 
grant any reasonable favors they might ask, 
he was himself asking no favors. 

After a period of waiting, and seeing 
that Col. Clark did not intend to open the 
negotiations, an Indian chief arose, and 
carried a belt of peace to the American 
commander. At the same time another 
chief walked forward, bearing the sacred 
pipe of peace, while a third chief brought 
fire with which to light the pipe. When it 
was lighted the chief who carried it held 
it up, offering it to the heavens; then he 
held it down, offering it the the earth; then 
he waved it about in the air, offering it to 
all the good spirits. Then he invoked the 
heavens, the earth and all good spirits to 
witness what was about to be done. 

After that the pipe was presented to 
Clark and then to all others present, each 
22 5 


LONG KNIVES 


of whom took a whiff of it as a pledge of 
friendship. 

That done, an Indian orator arose and 
addressed his brethren. 

“Warriors !” he said, “y ou ought to be 
thankful that the Great Spirit has taken pity 
on you, and cleared the sky, and opened 
your ears and hearts, so that you may hear 
the truth. We have been deceived by bad 
birds flying through the land; but we will 
take up the bloody hatchet no more against 
the Long Knife; and we hope, as the Great 
Spirit has brought us together for good, as 
he is good, that we may be received as 
friends, and that the belt of peace may 
take the place of the bloody belt.” 

If the Indians expected a gushing re- 
sponse — as they probably did, after their ex- 
perience of the white men’s over eagerness 
for compacts of peace — they must have been 
astonishingly disappointed. F or, in pur- 
suit of his policy of arrogance and self con- 
fidence, Col. Clark refused to shake hands 
with the chiefs or to let any of his men 
do so. He coldly told them that he had 
226 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


heard what their orator had said, and that 
he would answer it on the morrow. Then, 
without any assurance of good will he dis- 
missed them, retaining to the last his at- 
titude of mastery and dictatorship. 

The redmen passed an anxious night. 
Their fears had been already aroused, that 
the terrible chief of the Long Knives, re- 
membering and resenting their alliance 
with the British, might not be willing to 
make peace with them at all. They had an 
enormously exaggerated notion of his mili- 
tary strength, and the course he now pur- 
sued, in dismissing them until the morrow, 
with no assurance whatever of a disposition 
to be friendly, filled them with anxiety and 
fearful apprehension. 

That was precisely what Clark had in- 
tended, and there is every reason to believe 
that he slept better that night than the 
big “Injuns” did. 

When they met again next day he sternly 
offered them their choice between peace and 
war, making no concessions, asking no fa- 
vors, but laying down the law to them after 
227 


LONG KNIVES 


the manner of an all powerful conqueror. 
Pie has himself reported the speech he made 
to them, and this is what he said: 

“Men and warriors! Pay attention to 
my words. You informed me yesterday 
that the Great Spirit had brought us to- 
gether, and that you hoped, as he was good, 
that it would be for good. I have also the 
same hope, and expect that each party will 
strictly adhere to whatever may be agreed 
upon — whether it be peace or war — and 
henceforward prove ourselves worthy of the 
attention of the Great Spirit. I am a man 
and a warrior — not a counsellor. I carry 
war in my right hand, and in my left peace. 
I am sent by the Great Council of the Long 
Knives and their friends to take possession 
in this country; and to watch the motions 
of the red people; to bloody the paths of 
those who attempt to stop the course of the 
river; but to clear the roads from us to 
those who desire to be in peace, that the 
women and children may walk in them with- 
out meeting any thing to strike their feet 
against. I am ordered to call upon the 
228 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


Great Fire for warriors enough to darken 
the land, and that the red people may hear 
no sound but of birds who live on blood. 
I know there is a mist before your eyes. I 
will dispel the clouds that you may clearly 
see the cause of the war between the Long 
Knife and the English; then you may judge 
for yourselves which party is in the right; 
and if you are warriors, as you profess to 
be, prove it by adhering faithfully to the 
party which you shall believe to be entitled 
to your friendship; and do not show your- 
selves to be squaws. 

“The Long Knives are very much like 
the Red People; they don’t know how to 
make blankets, and powder and cloth. 
They buy these things from the English 
from whom they are sprung. They live 
by making corn, hunting and trade, as you 
and your neighbors the French do. But 
the Long Knives, daily getting more nu- 
merous, like the trees in the woods, the land 
became poor and hunting scarce ; and having 
but little to trade with, the women began to 
cry at seeing their children naked, and tried 
229 


LONG KNIVES 


to learn how to make clothes for themselves. 
They soon made blankets for their hus- 
bands and children; and the men learned to 
make guns and powder. In this way we 
did not want to buy so much from the Eng- 
lish. They then got mad with us and sent 
strong garrisons through our country, as 
you see they have done among you on the 
lakes and among the French. They 
would not let our women spin, nor our men 
make powder, nor let us trade with any- 
body else. The English said we should buy 
everything from them, and since we had 
got saucy, we should give two bucks for a 
blanket which we used to get for one; we 
should do as they pleased; and they killed 
some of our people to make the rest fear 
them. This is the truth, and the real cause 
of the war between the English and us, 
which did not take place for some time after 
this treatment.” 

Nobody ever made a clearer, more ac- 
curate or more enlightening statement of 
the conditions that brought about the Revo- 
lutionary War than this was. George 
230 


A COUNCIL FIRE 


Rogers Clark had a habit of thinking 
soundly and looking facts in the face. He 
also had that gift of expression which en- 
ables a man to set forth clearly the thought 
he has in his mind. 

lie waited for perhaps a minute, to let 
the Indians think over what he had told 
them. Then he went on. 

“But our women became cold and hungry 
and continued to cry. Our young men got 
lost for want of counsel to put them in the 
right path. The whole land was dark. 
The old men held down their heads for 
shame because they could not see the sun; 
and thus there was mourning for many 
years over the land. At last the Great 
Spirit took pity on us and kindled a great 
council fire that never goes out at a place 
called Philadelphia. He then stuck down 
a post and put a war tomahawk by it and 
went away. The sun immediately broke 
out; the sky was blue again; and the old 
men held up their heads and assembled at 
the fire. They took up the hatchet — sharp- 
ened it — and put it into the hands of our 
231 


LONG KNIVES 


young men, ordering them to strike the 
English as long as they could find one on 
this side of the great waters. The young 
men immediately struck the war post and 
blood was shed. In this way the war be- 
gan; and the English were driven from one 
place to another until they got weak; and 
then they hired you Red People to fight for 
them. The Great Spirit got angry at this 
and caused your old Father, the French 
King, and other great nations, to join the 
Long Knives and fight with them against 
all their enemies. So the English have be- 
come like deer in the woods; and you may 
see that it is the Great Spirit that has caused 
your waters to be troubled, because you have 
fought for the people he was mad with. If 
your women and children should now cry, 
you must blame yourselves for it, and not 
the Long Knives. 

“You can now judge who is in the right. 
I have already told you who I am.” 

Then rising, and standing before them 
like the daring and defiant warrior that he 
was, — asking no odds, seeking no favors, 
232 


A COUNCIL FIRE 

making no whine or whimper, — he said, in 
a stern voice: 

“Here is a bloody belt, and here is a white 
one. Take which you please. Behave like 
men, and don’t let your being surrounded 
by the Long Knives cause you to take up 
the one belt with your hands while your 
hearts take up the other. If you take the 
bloody path you shall leave the town in 
safety, and may go and join your friends 
the English. We will then try, like war- 
riors, who can put the most stumbling blocks 
in each other’s way, and keep our clothes 
longest stained with blood. If, on the other 
hand, you should take the path of peace and 
be received as brothers to the Long Knives, 
with their friends the French, should you 
then listen to bad birds that may be flying 
through the land, you will no longer deserve 
to be counted as men, but as creatures with 
two tongues, that ought to be destroyed 
without listening to anything you might 
say.” 

Col. Clark saw clearly that his oratory 
had completely won his Indian audience, 
233 


LONG KNIVES 


but it was his policy to impress the Red 
Men as strongly as possible with his ability 
to take care of himself, and with his inde- 
pendence of them. He might have made 
the treaty he so greatly wanted, then and 
there, but he was determined that they 
should have no reason to suppose that he 
cared a pinch of powder about it, one w r ay 
or the other. So instead of letting them 
choose at once between the white belt of 
peace and the hloody belt of war, he dis- 
missed the council with these words : 

“As I am convinced you never heard the 
truth before, I do not wish you to answer 
before you have taken time to counsel. We 
will therefore part this evening; and when 
the Great Spirit shall bring us together 
again, let us speak like men with but one 
heart and one tongue.” 


234 


XX 


tom's hazardous journey 

W HEN Clark met the Indian chiefs 
and orators next day, all was for- 
mality and the extreme of cere- 
mony was insisted upon. The Indians, 
fearing the enmity of the Long Knives, 
and fearing also that Clark might refuse at 
the last moment to make any treaties at all 
with them, accepted his rigid insistence upon 
the forms and the etiquette of negotiation, 
as an indication of his strength of position 
and his absolute indifference to their own 
attitude, whatever it might be. The whole 
thing meant to them that George Rogers 
Clark, the conqueror, could crush and de- 
stroy them at any moment, but that on the 
whole, he was disposed to be kindly in his 
treatment of them, if they should behave 
themselves discreetly. 

235 


LONG KNIVES 


With this understanding firmly fixed in 
their minds, they kindled a new council fire, 
and put forward their most persuasive or- 
ator to present their case. He said: 

“We ought to be thankful that the Great 
Spirit has taken pity on us and opened our 
ears and our hearts to receive the truth. I 
have paid great attention to what the Great 
Spirit has put it into the heart of the Chief 
of the Long Knives to say to us. We be- 
lieve all that to be the truth, as the Long 
Knives do not speak like any other people 
we have ever heard. We now see we have 
been deceived and that the English have told 
us lies, and that the Chief of the Long 
Knives has told us the truth, — just as some 
of our old men have always told us. We 
now believe that the Long Knives are in the 
right; and as the English have forts in our 
country, they may, if they get strong 
enough, want to serve the Red People as 
they have treated the Long Knives. The 
Red People ought to help the Long Knives 
and not the British, and we have, with cheer- 
ful hearts taken up the belt of peace, and 
236 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


spurned that of war. We are determined 
to hold the former fast, and we shall have 
no doubt of the friendship of the Long 
Knives, from the way in which they talk 
to us — so different from the way of the 
English. We will now call in our warriors 
and throw the tomahawk into the river where 
it can never be found. We will suffer no 
more bad birds to fly through the land, dis- 
quieting the women and children. We will 
be careful to smooth the roads for our 
brothers the Long Knives whenever they 
may wish to come and see us. Our friends 
all over the land shall hear of the good talk 
the Chief of the Long Knives has given 
us; and we hope he will send chiefs among 
us to see with his own eyes and for himself, 
that we are men, ready to stick to all we 
have said at this great fire, which the Great 
Spirit has kindled at Cahokia, for the good 
of all the people who might attend it.” * 
When th£ Indian orator had finished his 
speech, another Indian brought forward the 

* All the speeches made at these councils are copied here 
from Clark’s own narrative. — Author. 

237 


LONG KNIVES 


sacred pipe of peace, still another bearing 
coals with which to light it. 

The chief bearing the pipe, offered it in 
the customary way to the heavens, to the 
earth and to all the good spirits of the air, 
praying them to witness the compact of 
peace. The treaty of peace and friendship 
was made. The Indians and the white men, 
after smoking the pipe, shook hands and 
pledged themselves to everlasting amity, or, 
as the Indians put it, to friendship “so long 
as grass grows and water runs.” The In- 
dians had no word expressing the abstract 
thought “forever,” but they made the 
thought clear by saying “so long as grass 
grows and water runs.” 

This treaty concluded, all the other tribes 
in the Illinois country hurried to Cahokia 
and begged for like terms at the hands of 
Col. Clark. At the end of the summer he 
was complete master of the region he had 
set out to conquer — so far at least as treaties 
went. The French were his friends and the 
Indians were his allies. He had military 
238 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


possession of every town that the British 
had formerly held south of Detroit, and in 
appearance at least, his expedition had com- 
pletely accomplished its purpose. 

But Col. Clark knew better. In an in- 
timate conversation with Tom Harrod, one 
night early in December, he explained in this 
wise : 

“The British are still strong at Detroit, 
and they have behind them plenty of men, 
plenty of ammunition and plenty of provi- 
sions. They also have control of the North- 
ern Indians — all those in the Michigan re- 
gion and in the country north of the lakes 
and the St. Lawrence. At any time they 
please they can send an expedition down 
here with which we should find it very dif- 
ficult to deal. You see we have less than 
two hundred men on whom we can depend 
— less than a hundred and fifty Long 
Knives. The Frenchmen are friendly and 
they want us to stay here in control. But 
they are traders who want peace at any price 
and who will side with either party that may 
239 


LONG KNIVES 


happen to be on top. Very few of them 
are fighting men or disposed to become fight- 
ing men.” 

“And they are about all we have to de- 
pend on for holding Vincennes,” said Tom, 
meditatively. 

“Yes, we have only two Americans at 
that most important of all points — Capt. 
Helm and one private soldier.” 

“Do you think the Frenchmen will prove 
treacherous?” 

“No. Not that. But if a strong British 
force appears, they will throw down their 
arms and race to their homes, just like so 
many rats running to their holes when a 
terrier appears. We can’t depend upon 
them to stand up and fight, except when 
they are serving with American troops. 
You see, Tom, they are ‘under hack.’ They 
are conquered people. They have been 
whipped and they have given up. They’re 
like the school boy who has cried ‘ nuff ’ in 
a fight. There isn’t any more fight in them. 
Their young men who have formed a com- 
pany to join us, mean all right, and so long 
240 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


as we keep them with us they’ll do their duty 
like men. But over there at Vincennes the 
case is different. They haven’t any Ameri- 
cans to encourage them, and as for the In- 
dians — well you know how treacherous they 
are. They have made treaties with us, 
which they mean to keep with the utmost 
fidelity so long as we remain masters of the 
situation. But should the British become 
masters again, all the Indians from The 
Tobacco’s Son down, will desert us and go 
over to them and all the Frenchmen will 
submit and go home.” 

The two sat silent for a while. Presently 
Tom asked : 

“Why not take the bull by the horns? 
Why not march on Detroit itself, conquer 
it and shut the gate against the British?” 

“We haven’t men enough. I have sent 
express after express to Virginia asking for 
a thousand men. If I could get that many, 
I’d marshall all the Indians and make a 
final end of the British power on this side 
of the Great Lakes within a month. But 
Tom, they seem to be having use for all the 
241 


LONG KNIVES 


men they can muster over there east of the 
mountains just now, and worse still, they 
don’t look ahead.” 

“Just what do you mean by that?” asked 
Tom. 

“Why, they don’t see how much the pos- 
session of all this western country will mean 
to the United States, when Independence is 
recognized. If the British hold it, the 
United States will be nothing more than a 
fringe of settlements, shut in between the 
Alleghenies and the sea, and they won’t 
be even that very long; for if the British 
hold this region they will drive every Long 
Knife among us back over the mountains, 
and then, when they get ready, they will 
attack the feeble little republic in the rear 
with overwhelming forces, and all the war 
work of the revolution will be completely 
undone. The revolting states will be re- 
duced to the condition of conquered terri- 
tories to be governed in any arbitrary way 
that British satraps may choose. But if we 
hold this country — as we must, at all costs 
and all hazards, — the United States will 
242 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


grow into one of the greatest nations on 
earth. All this region is a wilderness now, 
and the people in Virginia and the other 
states regard it as such. They do not see 
or understand as you and I do, how much 
it will mean when every acre of these prai- 
ries and woodlands is made a part of a farm 
on which men — vigorous, stalwart, fighting 
men — will grow as the corn does. I tell 
you Tom, I am going to hold this country 
for the United States, or die in the attempt. 
I have very few men, and it seems that I 
can’t hope to get more. But the men I 
have are good ones, and I’ll do this job, or 
else my bones will bleach out here on the 
prairies. It’s a thing worth living for Tom, 
and a thing worth living for is a thing worth 
dying for, every time.” 

Tom rose and took his friend’s hand in a 
warm clasp. 

“You’re right,” he said, “and I for one 
will be with you to the end.” 

“Oh that’s a matter of course,” said Col. 
Clark. “You’re a Harrod, and if ever a 
Harrod flinched or flunked or failed in his 
243 


LONG KNIVES 


duty, I’ve yet got to hear of it. But I 
want you to go over to Vincennes, see for 
yourself how the land lies there, come back 
and report to me. You see, until all these 
Indian treaties are finished I can’t spare a 
single man for Vincennes, and yet I am so 
uneasy about that post that I’ll risk every- 
thing and send half my force over there if 
your information indicates that it is neces- 
sary. Bear in mind Tom, that we are here 
to stay, whether we stay as live men or dead 
men — as men standing on the grass or lying 
beneath it. I want you to start early in the 
morning, travel as fast as you can, and get 
back as soon as you can. Do you want a 
horse?” 

“For the first day, yes. I’ll ride him 
sixty or seventy miles and then turn him 
loose in the prairie grass. He’ll wander 
back here at his leisure, and after that I 
can go on faster on foot.” 

It was obvious to Tom Harrod that his 
commander was very uneasy and exceed- 
ingly anxious for definite news from Vin- 
cennes. So he made all haste he could. He 
244 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


might have set out that night, but he knew 
the habits of horses. He knew that a horse 
sleeps only in the late hours of the night, 
just before the dawn, and he knew he could 
get more of travel out of his horse by start- 
ing after the animal should have had his 
sleep out, than by riding him throughout the 
night and thus robbing him of his rest. 
Tom knew a good many other things about 
horses, and, with his determination to ac- 
complish this mission within the shortest 
possible time, he put all his knowledge to 
the proof. 

He started at five o’clock in the morning. 
His horse being fresh, and young and full 
of spirit, he let him gallop for a mile or so. 
Then he checked him down to a trot, slow- 
ing that to a walk now and then for breath- 
ing purposes, and insisting upon a walk 
wherever there was a hill to descend. 

On and on he rode until nearly midnight. 
The horse had acquitted himself well and 
nearly a hundred miles of the journey had 
been accomplished. 

Then Tom, who had ridden without a sad- 
245 


LONG KNIVES 


die, turned the utterly exhausted horse loose 
to rest, to fill himself with the lush grass of 
a creek border in which the stop was made, 
and to wander back to Kaskaskia at his 
leisure, as Tom knew that the animal, 
prompted by the homing instinct, would very 
certainly do. 

At five o’clock in the morning, Tom was 
up and off again. He did not stop to cook 
or eat breakf ast. He had brought with him 
a large piece of cold boiled bacon and three 
or four pones of cornbread. These fur- 
nished him all the food he wanted, and his 
trusty rifle was a sufficient security against 
starvation when these supplies should be ex- 
hausted. He could at any time “arise, slay, 
and eat” of the abundant game that peopled 
the prairie during that dry season, and as 
an experienced Long Hunter, he knew how 
to content himself for long periods upon an 
exclusive diet of meat. So his commissariat 
in no way troubled him, and he put the miles 
behind him with little reck of anything else. 

At Vincennes he heard alarming news. 
The British were advancing from Detroit, 
246 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 


with regulars for their mainstay, but wdth 
volunteers, trained militia-men and North- 
ern Indians in great numbers to reinforce 
them. 

“Will your French inhabitants stand by 
you in the struggle for the possession of the 
fort?” Tom asked eagerly of Captain Helm, 
remembering Clark’s fears on that score. 

“No. Not a man of them. When the 
British come they will run to their homes 
and hide there. These people want us to 
win, but they won’t do a thing to help us 
to win. You see, Tom, they are whipped 
and they’ve given up. They have enjoyed 
the pretty military play of garrisoning the 
fort so long as no enemy appeared, but they 
won’t fire a gun or even stay in the fort 
wdien the British appear. What we need 
is an American garrison — a little company 
of Long Knives — if it is only twenty-five 
or thirty of them. With twenty-five or 
thirty such men as you are, Tom, I could 
hold this place till the bottomless pit freezes 
over. But I haven’t the men and I want 
them. I want you to hurry back and tell 
247 


LONG KNIVES 


Col. Clark what the situation is. If he can 
lend me the men I need — or one-third of 
them — if he can let you bring ten good Vir- 
ginia Long Knives here I’ll promise to hold 
Vincennes against any force the Hair Buyer 
General may send to recapture the post. 
Tell him so. But tell him also that my 
Frenchmen are already leaving me and go- 
ing home, and that the only real force I 
have with which to defend the fort is one 
Long Knife and myself. Urge him, beg 
hinventreat him to send me a reinforcement 
and to send it quick. Tell him I need thirty 
men, but tell him if he can get only ten men 
here I’ll hold the fort. Now go. I have 
an Indian horse ready for you. Lie can go 
for twenty-four hours without rest, and he’s 
good for another twenty-four after four 
hours of rest. Bide him to death if need 
be, but as soon as possible get news to Col. 
Clark that the British are threatening us 
here, that I have no force with which to de- 
fend the fort, and that unless he can send 
some Long Knives to help me out this post 


248 


TOM’S HAZARDOUS JOURNEY 

must fall again into the hands of the 
enemy.” 

Tom mounted the tough Indian horse, 
and rode away, determined to ride the horse 
to death and after that to run Tom Harrod 
to death if necessary, in order to get his 
news through to Col. Clark within the brief- 
est time possible. 


249 


XXI 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 

I T was noon when Tom Harrod set out 
upon his hurried return journey. In 
his haste to be off he was careless about 
rations, so that when he left Vincennes the 
only food he had with him was about a 
pound of cornbread, half a pound of raw 
salt pork, and two big potatoes which an 
enthusiastic half-breed boy had thrown into 
the pockets of his hunting shirt as he pre- 
pared to mount. But he had his rifle, and 
he did not fear for food. 

It was just after dark when Tom ran 
into difficulties. 

The country he had to cross was mainly 
a rolling prairie, the high grass of which was 
over-ripe and excessively dry because the 
autumn rains had been long delayed. But 
here and there was a little bit of timber- 
250 



The horse managed to carry his rider into difficulties. 

Page 251. 






































* 


























i 















94 




























































TRIED AS BY FIRE 


land, a miniature forest, and into one of 
these tree-peopled spots Tom rode, chiefly 
because he recognized it as one of the land- 
marks he had chosen on his way to Vincennes 
— one of the conspicuous points of de- 
parture which he might rely upon as a means 
of finding his way on this his homing jour- 
ney. 

His Indian horse had been galloping, af- 
ter his wont, but upon reaching the edge of 
the little stretch of forest land, he slowed 
down to a dog trot, as if he understood that 
obstacles of one kind and another were 
likely to be met with in the timber land, and 
that high speed there was — to say the least 
— undesirable. 

Even at a dog trot, however, the horse 
managed to carry his rider into difficulties. 
He came to a fallen tree and leaped it. As 
he did so four British regulars and a dozen 
Indians from the far north rose and con- 
fronted the boy, with their guns at full cock 
and their ready fingers threateningly near 
their triggers. They quickly and angrily 
pulled him to the ground, disarmed him, and 
251 


LONG KNIVES 


three of them. Anyhow that’s what I heard 
in camp last night. You see the Indians 
under Tobacco’s Son, all pledged themselves 
to the Americans a few months ago, but now 
that Col. Hamilton is marching down this 
way, of course, they’ve all come back to us. 
That’s the Indian way you know, particu- 
larly, when they see which side is the strong- 
est, and this time that’s us. They say this 
fellow Clark hasn’t more’n about a hundred 
men with him — Americans, I mean, for the 
Frenchmen who have joined him don’t 
count.” 

“Why not?” 

“Why, because they won’t fight and any- 
how they don’t care much who wins, so long 
as they can be friends with the winner. 
They aren’t soldiers. They’re just traders. 
Two of our men caught three of them from 
Vincennes yesterday. They were out scout- 
ing, just like real soldiers, but the moment 
our two men called to them to surrender, 
they threw down their guns and gave up, 
though they were three to two.” 

“How many men have we anyhow?” 

254 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 

“Including the Indians, about five hun- 
dred.” 

“Then why should we be afraid of a hun- 
dred Americans?” 

“We aren’t. But don’t you see if they 
got into Vincennes before we did, they’d 
shut themselves up in the fort, — and it’s a 
strong one — and a good many of us would 
bite the dust before we could dislodge them.” 

“I shouldn’t think they’d dare to make 
a fight with five times their own number.” 

“They’d dare anything. You never 
fought them down in Kentucky, did you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I have, and I never saw such men. 
They never know when they are whipped, 
and so they never are whipped till they’re 
dead. Why, even their women fight; yes, 
and their children, too. I’ve seen little boys 
not over six or seven years old, shooting 
over a stockade, and they shoot to kill, too. 
For my part, I’m glad enough they aren’t 
in the fort at Vincennes. By the way, we 
must search that Frenchman for the letters 
he’s carrying. I forgot that.” 

2 55 


LONG KNIVES 


Accordingly they unbound Tom and 
stripped him to the skin. But, as we know, 
Tom had none but verbal messages for Col. 
Clark, and so his captors found no papers 
of any kind in his clothes. 

The search over, they permitted him to 
dress himself, after which they bound him 
again. But as they were satisfied that he 
was only a spiritless Frenchman from Vin- 
cennes, they were not so careful with the 
bonds as they would have been had they 
known the facts. 

After thinking for a while Tom believed 
he saw a way out of his situation. His 
hands were very flexible, and after secretly 
feeling of his bonds he was convinced that 
with some effort and perhaps a little pain, 
he might extricate one of his hands from 
the thong that held it fast. He was not 
sure of this, and so long^as his captors re- 
mained awake, he dared not make any ef- 
fort to find out about it. But after they 
went snoringly to sleep he began tugging at 
his bonds and after half an hour of effort 
256 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 

and the loss of some cuticle, he succeeded 
in freeing his left hand. 

That meant everything to him. With the 
free left hand he felt around his waist till 
he secured a hold upon his long knife. Si- 
lently, and taking pains to avoid attracting 
attention in any way, he severed the thong 
that still held his right hand in leash. Then, 
without rising or giving any other sign of 
wakefulness, he drew his imprisoned feet up 
to his body. At the moment that he did so, 
one of the British soldiers awoke, sat up, 
and after a little, rose and threw some wood 
upon the slowly dying fire. 

Meanwhile Tom lay profoundly still, 
taking pains to breathe in stertorous fashion, 
like a man deeply sleeping. 

When the English soldier had begun 
snoring again Tom slipped his long knife 
down to his drawn-up ankles, and, with a 
very gentle, sawing motion, succeeded in 
severing the thong that held his feet to- 
gether. He did not bother further to free 
his ankles. His legs were no longer bound 
257 


LONG KNIVES 


together. He could run. What did it mat- 
ter that around each ankle there was a 
closely drawn strap ? He was anxious to be 
up and away. Comfort was a secondary 
consideration, or no consideration at all, and 
he realized that any effort he might make 
to relieve his ankles of the straps that en- 
circled them, must increase the danger of 
discovery. So he did not try to remove 
the straps, but contented himself with the 
fact that his legs were free and that he 
could run. The rest could wait. 

Tom had been a hunter almost from his 
infancy. In his wily pursuit of game he 
had learned many lessons of prudence. One 
of these was never to do anything, or start 
to do it, until he had “got a good ready.” 
That is to say, it was his habit never to act 
until he had thoroughly thought out the 
problem he had to solve, and had planned 
what he should do in every conceivable 
emergency. 

Accordingly, instead of jumping up at 
once and making an effort to escape, he lay 
there for more than an hour, planning, be- 
258 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 


fore he moved a muscle. At the end of that 
time he thought he knew exactly what to do 
and how to do it. He had thoroughly 
thought out all things that might happen, 
and he had planned to meet all emergencies. 
He did not intend to fail. 

Slowly, silently, he rose from the ground. 
He seized a blazing brand from the fire, and 
silently he moved out of the woodland into 
the open prairie, where the over-ripe grass 
stood nearly as high as his head, and was 
sun-parched to the condition of tinder. 

Just as he reached the borders of the grass 
his captors discovered that he had freed him- 
self from his leathern bonds and was escap- 
ing. His blazing brand showed them where 
he was, and they very foolishly fired a vol- 
ley in his direction. The chances were not 
one in a thousand that a bullet so wildly 
fired in the dark would reach its intended 
mark. In this case none of them did so. 
The leaden pellets whistled over Tom’s head, 
harmlessly, and he continued to run through 
the long, dry grass. 

But he knew that there were Indians with 
259 


LONG KNIVES 


the British, and he knew that the Indians 
could outrun any white man. So as he ran 
he gathered a bunch of the dry grass in his 
left hand, and when he had got so much of 
it as he thought necessary, he applied his 
blazing brand to it without pausing for a 
moment in his flight, and when it blazed up 
fiercely, he scattered the bundle to the right 
and left of him, among the tall, standing 
grass of the prairie. 

He had carefully noted the fact that the 
wind was blowing strongly from the north- 
west, and his own course lay toward the 
southwest. 

So when he scattered the blazing bunches 
into the standing grass round him, there 
was an instant outbreak of fierce fire behind 
him, which the strong wind blew violently 
toward his adversaries. 

No human being ever yet confronted a 
prairie fire of that sort and came through 
it alive. Tom perfectly knew that his ad- 
versaries must retreat in all ha§te to their 
woodland shelter where there was no prairie 
grass to burn, and he knew too that even 
260 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 


there, with the prairie afire all around them, 
they would have to lie down upon their faces 
and take their breath from the surface of 
the earth, if they would avoid suff ocation. 

He knew that with the prairie once afire 
behind him he was safe from all danger of 
pursuit. Nevertheless he continued to run, 
making all he could of southwestward prog- 
ress; for he knew that although the wind 
was blowing strongly from the northwest, 
the prairie fire while sweeping eastward at 
terrific speed, would also spread, though 
less rapidly, in other directions, and that if 
he did not hurry it would surely overtake 
and destroy him. 

He ran on, and on and on, until at last 
he reached a woodland-bordered stream, one 
of the sluggish, muddy creeks that lace the 
prairie country, and that are fringed with 
little strips of cotton wood trees and swamp 
undergrowths. 

Through the mud and mire of the low- 
lands he crossed the wooded stretches. 
Then he plunged into the creek and crossed 
it, partly by wading and partly by swim- 
261 


LONG KNIVES 


ming. Safe on the other side at last, he 
toiled through the mire to the high ground 
beyond. There he pitched his bivouac for 
the few remaining hours of the night, feel- 
ing himself secure against the remotest pos- 
sibility of pursuit by his enemies, and 
equally secure against any dangerous ad- 
vance of the prairie fire westward, so long 
at least as the wind should hold to the north- 
west. 

But the wind did not hold in that quarter 
for long. It presently shifted to the east. 
Then there came upon its wings a great, 
suffocating cloud of smoke, and Tom, know- 
ing the nature of his danger, hurried to the 
stream and lay down in it, with his nose and 
mouth only a few inches above the water. 
He knew that the surface of that water was 
the very lowest level in all the region round 
about, and he knew that it was only at the 
lowest levels that he had a chance to breathe 
in that terrible atmosphere of smoke. 

Unfortunately, the shift of the wind to 
the east brought with it a lower barometric 
pressure, so that the smoke, which would or- 
262 


TRIED AS BY FIRE 


dinarily have floated upwards in the atmos- 
phere, seemed to cling to the earth and even 
to the surface of the stream. Tom’s eyes 
and nose and throat, and all his air pas- 
sages were filled with the pungent vapor 
until he several times seriously contemplated 
drowning himself as the only way out of 
his agony. 

The fire — spreading westward now, under 
the influence of the east wind reached the 
creek and leaped across it. Great acres of 
flame seemed to be lifted up and borne on 
the wings of the wind to the fire-hungry 
grass on the western side of the stream. 

The heat was appalling in its intensity, 
so that the foliage of the cottonwood trees 
— ripe now in the autumn — was shriveled up 
and cast to the earth in crisp nothingness. 

To Tom it seemed impossible to endure 
the torture longer. Then, to his relief the 
east wind brought a drenching rain to cool 
the atmosphere and dampen down the fires 
that had seemed to him to threaten the earth 
itself with destruction. The smoke was suf- 
focating still but its density was so far di- 
263 


LONG KNIVES 


minished by the putting out of the fire that 
he could breathe, and the fierce heat was 
after a little while so far tempered that he 
could endure it. 


264 


XXII 


HARD TRAVELING 

I T was nine o’clock or so in the morning 
before the conditions became such that 
Tom Harrod could look about him and 
plan his further proceedings. He was very 
hungry and he had neither food nor the 
means of procuring food. His rifle, his 
powder-horn and his bullet pouch had been 
taken away from him by his British captors. 
So also had been the meagre provisions 
with which he had left Vincennes. He was 
out there alone on the prairie, nearly two 
hundred and fifty miles away from friends 
or help, without a morsel to eat and without 
any of those means upon which he was ac- 
customed to depend for food supplies in 
every wilderness. 

Nevertheless he did not despair. His 
hunger was sharp but it was not yet agoniz- 
265 


LONG KNIVES 


ing, and he knew that there are many things 
which a man may eat in an emergency. The 
rain was falling in torrents now, and Tom 
reflected that it would soon put out the 
prairie fire. He hurried forward, there- 
fore, hoping to reach some unburned region 
where the chance of getting food might be 
better than where he was. 

As he stumbled along in water several in- 
ches deep — for the prairie at that point was 
very low and as flat as a table, so that the 
water did not run off — he caught sight of 
a fluttering prairie chicken, which was al- 
ternately running and trying in vain to fly. 
He instantly gave chase, and after ten min- 
utes or so he caught the bird. It was a very 
young prairie chicken, which had only re- 
cently left the nest and had not yet attained 
more than half its growth. Evidently it 
had been caught in the prairie fire. Its 
wing feathers had been so far burned off 
that it could no longer fly but it was other- 
wise uninjured, and to poor, starving Tom 
Harrod it meant breakfast. Pushing on for 
half a mile, he reached a little clump of 
266 


HARD TRAVELING 


trees, and there, with the aid of his tinder 
box he managed to create a fire and cook 
his bird. He had no salt, but he was well 
used to that deprivation on his hunting trips, 
and savagely hungry as he was, he devoured 
the bird with a relish keener than many per- 
sons living in more civilized conditions ever 
feel for the most daintily prepared viands. 

Where his next meal was to come from, 
Tom did not know, but he was well used to 
such uncertainty, and his task now was to 
push forward toward Kaskaskia with all 
possible speed. After the fashion of the 
Indian runners, he adopted the dog-trot as 
his gait, and traveled at the rate of six or 
seven miles an hour. 

Accustomed as he was to travel at this 
rate, if Tom Harrod had been even reason- 
ably well supplied with rations, he would 
have covered a distance of sixty or seventy 
miles a day; or even, perhaps, a third more 
than that. But he had no rations at all, and 
much of his time must be given to the task 
of finding food. 

During that day he continued to press 

267 


LONG KNIVES 


forward. It was late in the season, but 
there are always some prairie chickens that 
lay eggs in the fall, and as he hurried on- 
ward he kept his eyes open for the nests of 
these. Fortunately, he found perhaps a 
dozen of the eggs, already roasted by the 
prairie fire, and these so far satisfied his 
hunger that he pressed on until nightfall 
without pausing to search for other food 
supplies. 

But after he had slept, and when morn- 
ing came, he found himself again savagely 
hungry. He had by this time reached un- 
burned prairie, and as he hurried forward 
he stripped off handfuls of the sun-parched 
grass heads and chewed them as any horse 
might have done. There were minute seeds 
in them, and the starch and gluten of these 
somewhat appeased the pangs of hunger, 
but he knew he could not long keep up his 
march upon so meagre a diet as that. Pres- 
ently he saw in the distance — ten miles 
away, perhaps — a fringe of cottonwood 
trees, which indicated the presence there of 
a river or creek, or at the very least, a brook. 

268 


HARD TRAVELING 


This gave him hope, for if he could reach 
a bottom land of any kind he was sure to 
find snails there, and earth worms ; and Tom 
Harrod had more than once in his life been 
reduced to the eating of such food by way 
of averting starvation. 

It was hard traveling through the tall 
and obstructive prairie grass, but Tom 
pushed onward, making all of speed that 
he could, and about noon he reached a little 
river, the water of which was comparatively 
clear, because of a stony bottom and a more 
rapid current than the streams in the flat 
prairie usually have. 

Tom understood the significance of this, 
for since he had set out from the Ohio he 
had diligently studied the geography of the 
Southern Illinois country, and he knew now 
that he was on what is called the upheaval — 
the rolling region where streams flow less 
sluggishly than they do farther north, 
where the prairies are as flat as a floor. 

There was a double joy to Tom in this 
discovery. It meant that he had made 
much better progress on his western jour- 
269 


LONG KNIVES 


ney than he had supposed, and it meant 
fish. These more rapidly flowing streams 
were alive with large perch and catfish, but 
he had no means of catching those wary 
creatures. He had no lines, no hooks, noth- 
ing with which to make them his pris- 
oners. But the shores of such streams 
were thickly thronged with little fish of the 
kind variously known as sunfish, goggle 
eyes, pumpkin seeds, bream, and by other 
names. These fish swarm about the shores, 
and they are not shy — indeed, they are al- 
most tame. They vary in size from an 
inch long to four, or even five, inches. 
They are not much esteemed as food fishes, 
because their flesh is rather dry, but they 
are fairly edible, they are easily caught, and 
Tom Harrod’s approach to a condition of 
starvation was so close that he was not dis- 
posed to be over particular about the qual- 
ity of his fish. 

The bed of the stream was a mass of 
stones — iron ore in the main — and Tom, 
for lack of better fishing apparatus, set to 
work to make a trap. He waded into the 
270 


HARD TRAVELING 


water, and collecting the stones, built a lit- 
tle semi-circular wall from one point of the 
bank to another. In the middle of the wall 
he left a little opening, into which he fitted 
one of the larger stones, so as to enclose the 
semi-circular space completely. 

Having satisfied himself as to the fit, he 
removed this gate-stone, placing it where 
he might easily and quickly drop it into 
place, closing the gap, when the trap should 
be sufficiently thronged with fish. 

Then he went into the creek borders and 
gathered worms of every kind he could 
find. These he broke into fragments, and 
with them he baited his pool. 

It was not long before the foolish sun- 
fish swarmed in to feast upon the food he 
had provided for them. Then, wading, he 
dropped the gate-stone into its place, com- 
pletely imprisoning the fish. After that 
his task was easy. He had only to wade 
about in the shallow pool, catch the fish in 
his hands, and throw them out upon the 
bank. Some of them were of fairly good 
size, but many were very small. He did 
271 


LONG KNIVES 


not care for the difference or make any dis- 
crimination. A hungry man, with a long 
journey before him, is not apt to question 
his food supply too closely, as to its desira- 
bility. It is quantity, not quality, that one 
cares about under such circumstances, and 
Tom had quantity the more in mind, be- 
cause he had decided that here was the best 
source of food supply he was likely to en- 
counter on his journey. He determined to 
stay where he was until he should have se- 
cured enough of the little fishes to keep life 
in him during the remainder of his journey 
to Ivaskaskia. Accordingly, although he 
was well nigh famished, he removed the 
gate-stone before proceeding to collect 
fallen twigs and make a fire and cook the 
fish already caught. And during the proc- 
ess of cooking and the subsequent eating, 
he several times paused to close his trap and 
to throw the imprisoned fish ashore. 

By nightfall he had caught and cooked 
enough of the fish, as he reckoned, to last 
him through the remainder of his journey. 
He was by that time over tired, and after 
272 


HARD TRAVELING 


securing his supply of cooked fish against 
all possible enemies, he stretched himself 
upon the wet ground to sleep. About five 
o’clock in the morning he awoke and 
resumed his dog-trot through the cold, 
drenching rain storm toward Kaskaskia, 
where, without further adventure of any 
kind, he arrived about four o’clock one af- 
ternoon, and delivered Captain Helm’s mes- 
sages to Colonel Clark. 


273 


XXIII 


THE FALL OF VINCENNES 

W E already know something of what 
Captain Helm’s message, sent by 
Tom to Colonel Clark, was. That 
message, in its fulness, as Tom delivered 
it, was in substance, as follows: 

“Hamilton is nearing Vincennes with an 
army, which I have no force strong enough 
to resist. So far as I can learn, he has with 
him thirty-six British regulars, forty-five 
Detroit volunteers, whom he has been drill- 
ing for a year or more, so that they are now 
effective troops, seventy-nine Detroit Mili- 
tia, seventeen men from the Indian Depart- 
ment — white men and trained soldiers — and 
four hundred well-trained and well-armed 
Indians, besides a full complement of offi- 
cers, ranging in rank from Majors to 
Lieutenants. Moreover, Tobacco’s Son 
and his people are fraternizing with the 
274 


THE FALL OF VINCENNES 


British again, after the treacherous fashion 
of the Indians, and they may swell his force 
to a thousand men before he shall get here. 
If I could depend upon the Frenchmen — 
the inhabitants of Vincennes — who have all 
sworn allegiance to the American cause — 
to stand by me and fight like men, I could 
easily resist such a force, or even destroy it. 
But the inhabitants will not stand by me. 
They will not fight, and nothing can induce 
them to do so. Their volunteers are al- 
ready throwing down their guns, quitting 
the fort and sneaking off to their homes, 
where, I suppose, they will hide their heads 
under the bedquilts when the enemy ap- 
pears. If I had thirty good men I could 
hold this fort and town till the Mississippi 
River runs dry — for the fort is really 
strong. But I have only one American 
soldier with me, and he is absolutely the 
only man who will stand by me when the 
enemy comes.” 

To this was added the plea for reinforce- 
ments, which we have already heard Cap- 
tain Helm deliver to Tom Harrod. 

275 


LONG KNIVES 


Clark listened in silence while Tom de- 
livered his message. After a while, Tom 
interrupted the silence. 

“What’s the matter with these French- 
men?” he asked. “Why won’t they fight 
for what they want? They really want us 
to hold this country, and if they would 
help, or even half help, we could do it 
easily.” 

“We’ll hold it, anyhow, Tom,” answered 
Clark, with that confidence in himself and 
in his Long Knives which was always his 
inspiration. “We’ll probably have to fight 
desperately and endure many hardships, 
but we are going to win. If we don’t, 
then not a man among us will ever see Ken- 
tucky again.” 

“But what is the matter with the French- 
men? With a strong fort at Vincennes 
and Captain Helm in command, the people 
there who have sworn allegiance and en- 
listed as soldiers for the defence of the 
post, could clean out any force Hamilton 
can bring against them. They could even 
outnumber him, and they have the benefit 
276 


THE FALL OF VINCENNES 


of the fortification. I can’t seem to under- 
stand it.” 

“That’s because you were never whipped, 
Tom. Those Frenchmen are whipped, 
conquered, beaten. They have given up. 
There is no fight in them, as I have said to 
you before. They very eagerly want us to 
hold this country, but they have no spirit 
in them, and so, they won’t help us to do it 
by fighting. In fact, they can’t fight. 
They are no longer men.” 

“Why can’t we march at once on Vin- 
cennes, ourselves?” asked Tom, “and de- 
fend the place?” 

“The time is not ripe,” answered Clark. 
“I am waiting for developments. At the 
right time I shall strike to win. But the 
right time is not yet. The British, with 
their allies, outnumber us now, and are too 
strong for us. But they can’t hold their 
Indians long, unless they decide to assail 
us here at Kaskaskia. If they wait, they 
will weaken themselves more and more 
every day. If they attack us here, we’ll 
have the advantage of a fortified position.” 
277 


LONG KNIVES 


“Then, you mean to let them recapture 
Post Vincennes ?” 

“They have probably done that, already,” 
answered Clark. “If not, they will do so 
within a few days — before we could possi- 
bly get there. For the present, my busi- 
ness is to hold Kaskaskia. When the time 
comes to do something else, we’ll do it. In 
the meanwhile, you see how it rains. I 
doubt that Hamilton will undertake a cross- 
country campaign in such weather. There’s 
two hundred and fifty or three hundred miles 
of wading, now, between Vincennes and 
Kaskaskia, with a good deal of swimming 
to boot, and the weather is bitterly cold. 
I don’t think Hamilton will undertake such 
a march. If he does, we’ll be ready to re- 
ceive him, for I’ve got the Frenchmen here 
under enough of discipline to make them 
stand up and fight, at least, on the defen- 
sive. They can’t run home, for they know 
that in that case we’d fire on them from 
the rear. They’re worse afraid of us than 
of the enemy. But if Hamilton doesn’t 
march this way, but sits down at Vincennes 
278 


THE FALL OF VINCENNES 


and lets his Indians wander away, as they 
surely will, till he is seriously weakened, I 
may conclude to make the march myself. 
Our Virginians aren’t afraid of wading, or 
of the weather. Anyhow, keep a close 
mouth and wait and see.” 

Clark was right in his conjecture that 
Hamilton would recapture Vincennes 
within a few days. On the 15th of Decem- 
ber, 1778, the British commander appeared 
there in overwhelming force; the town 
meekly submitted itself and all the citizens 
who had so enthusiastically volunteered to 
garrison and defend the fort, threw down 
their arms and retired to their homes like 
so many whipped curs, with limp tails 
tucked between their legs. Captain Helm, 
with only one soldier — a man named Henry 
— to assist him, drew a loaded cannon to 
the gate of the fortress, and stood there 
with a lighted match, ready to fire upon the 
advancing British force. When Hamilton 
had advanced to within a few hundred 
yards, Captain Helm called out “halt!” 
and Hamilton halted. Then, the British 
279 


LONG KNIVES 


officer demanded the surrender of the fort 
and all its garrison — for he supposed there 
was still a strong fighting force within the 
walls. In a great, big Kentucky voice, 
Helm replied that no man should enter that 
fort until honorable terms of surrender 
should be offered and accepted. There- 
upon, Hamilton replied that if Captain 
Helm would surrender himself and his gar- 
rison, he and the force under his command 
should march out with all the “honors of 
war” — which meant with their arms in their 
hands, with their flag flying and without 
any kind of humiliation. 

To Hamilton’s astonishment and griev- 
ous humiliation, the surrendered garrison, 
when it marched out with colors flying, con- 
sisted of Captain Helm and one man! 

As Clark had foreseen, Hamilton did not 
advance upon the Illinois towns to drive the 
Long Knives out of the country. He had 
not enough of energy for that, or enough 
of military genius. But he sent several 
bands of his Indians to threaten the Long 
Knives, and by way of precaution, Clark 
280 


THE FALL OF VINCENNES 


ordered the evacuation of Cahokia — no 
longer a post of importance, now — and the 
concentration of his little force at Kaskas- 
kia in preparation for an assault or a siege. 

By way of further preparation, he 
burned every house in Kaskaskia that stood 
in the way of his cannon fire, and converted 
the entire town into a fortress. 

But Hamilton did not advance. He was 
a man of irresolute mind and the small- 
est kind of courage. He had resolution 
enough to hire Indians to make raids, pay-* 
ing them, as we have seen, so much a piece 
for the scalps they might bring in, and in 
every other way instigating them to exer- 
cise their savage impulses in butchery and 
the desolation of peaceful homes. But he 
had not enough of courage to march 
against George Rogers Clark, even when 
he had a force many times outnumbering 
the Long Knives. Especially, he had not 
enough of energy to undertake a winter 
campaign that must involve sore hardships. 

Having recaptured Vincennes, he sent 
his Indians to ravage the Kentucky borders, 
281 


LONG KNIVES 


planning, when spring should come, to as- 
semble an overwhelming force and drive 
the Long Knives out of the Illinois coun- 
try, and then fall upon Kentucky. 

He did not know the Long Knives, and 
he did not know George Rogers Clark. In 
the end he paid dearly for his ignorance. 


282 


XXIV 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 

T HE recapture of Vincennes by the 
British in mid-December, 1778, ren- 
dered Clark’s situation at Kaskaskia 
extremely perilous. His force was so iso- 
lated that there was no hope of reinforce- 
ment, and the number of his men was so 
small that he could have little hope of with- 
standing* a determined siege. 

Bodies of hostile Indians were showing 
themselves threateningly in the region 
round about, and Clark confidently antici- 
pated a concerted attack. 

“I am going to stand my hand,” he said 
to Tom Harrod one night, after the two 
had reviewed the situation. “You see, 
there’s one thing that brave men can do in 
any emergency — they can die, and there are 
worse things that can happen to men than 
283 


LONG KNIVES 


death in a good cause. But I’m planning, 
in case of a siege, to make these F rench peo- 
ple help us, like men.” 

“How will you do that?” asked Tom, 
whose growing contempt for the demoral- 
ized Frenchmen made him skeptical of any 
such possibility. 

“I’ve trained my guns on the town,” 
Clark answered, “and when the British ap- 
pear for the purpose of assailing us, I shall 
order all the able-bodied French citizens 
into the fort, and give notice that if they 
fail to fight like men, I will open fire on 
their homes and utterly destroy the town 
before the British can take the fort. And 
I mean that, Tom. These people have got 
to understand that if they are with us — 
as they have sworn to be — they must fight 
with us. Maybe we can beat off the Brit- 
ish — and maybe we can’t; but one thing is 
certain — if we are beaten the Frenchmen 
must die with us.” 

In accordance with this plan, Colonel 
Clark concentrated his force at Kaskaskia, 
284 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


and collected there all there was of food in 
the region round about. Then, he com- 
pelled every able-bodied citizen of the town 
to come into the fort and be drilled as a 
soldier. Finally, he gave it out that if the 
British could not be beaten off, he would 
utterly destroy the town before surrender- 
ing the fort. “And even then,” he said to 
the influential citizens, “I shall not surren- 
der the fort. There is room enough on its 
parade ground for all of us Long Knives 
to be buried comfortably there, and when 
the British get possession they will find our 
corpses ready for the funeral ceremonies.” 

But the British did not make the antici- 
pated attack. Hamilton was a mercilessly 
cruel man, and, in a certain methodical way, 
a thoroughly trained officer who could use 
superior numbers fairly well, but as a mili- 
tary commander he had no resolution or en- 
terprise or vigor in him. Having recap- 
tured Vincennes, it was his obvious policy to 
march at once with his overwhelming force 
and destroy the power of the Long Knives 
285 


LONG KNIVES 


in the Illinois towns. Instead of doing so, 
he rested content with the possession of 
Vincennes. 

His first act was to alarm and offend the 
people there by seizing and confiscating all 
the food stuffs possessed by the merchants 
of the town, paying them nothing, and thus 
reducing them to poverty and making im- 
placable enemies of them. As they had 
not fought to hold their town and fort, 
Hamilton very justly held them in con- 
tempt, even as possible fighters, and re- 
garded their enmity as something not 
worth considering. 

But having Vincennes again in his pos- 
session, Hamilton put off further opera- 
tions until spring. Winter had now set in 
severely. The streams were out of their 
banks and rising with every hour; the prai- 
ries were flooded, and a march would have 
involved more of hardship than the irreso- 
lute Hair-Buyer-General could contem- 
plate with equanimity. 

So he decided to wait until the prairies 
should become verdant in the spring, and 
286 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


then, in comfortable fashion, to march 
across country, crush George Rogers 
Clark, if he had not retreated meanwhile, 
and repossess the Illinois. 

In the meanwhile, as has been said al- 
ready, he sent most of his Indians south- 
ward to blockade the Ohio and to make mur- 
derous raids into Kentucky, hoping in that 
way to compel Colonel Clark, with his force, 
to hurry back to defend that region. The 
rest of his Indians secured a supply of whis- 
key in Vincennes, and then wandered away 
to their tribal homes in the North. Indians 
could never be held together for the hum- 
drum work of garrisoning a place, when 
there was nothing of an active kind going 
on. 

In addition to the Indian raids into Ken- 
tucky, Hamilton sent several bands to an- 
noy and perhaps even to destroy Clark’s 
force at Kaskaskia if Clark should not re- 
treat to Kentucky. 

Most important of all he planned an In- 
dian war for the following spring, a war 
which he confidently believed would exter- 
287 


LONG KNIVES 


minate the Virginians west of the mountains 
and make an end of American occupation. 
To that end he sent emissaries South to stir 
up the Creeks, Cherokees and Choctaws 
there. His plan was to recall all his North- 
ern Indians to Vincennes in the spring, and 
fall upon Kentucky while the Southern In- 
dians, in alliance with him and in his pay, 
should assail that region from the South. 
He confidently reckoned upon having many 
thousand red skins in all, together with a 
strong force of white men — regulars, volun- 
teers and well drilled militia. 

All this must wait, however, until the win- 
ter should be over and the floods gone. In 
the overflowed condition in which the coun- 
try was at that time, and in the fiercely in- 
clement weather that then prevailed, Ham- 
ilton deemed all campaigning — even on the 
smallest scale — impossible. Accordingly 
feeling himself secure, he permitted his vol- 
unteers and militia to return to their homes 
under a promise to come back to him as soon 
as spring should open. 

It was a comprehensive plan of conquest, 
288 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


and in most ways a good one from a military 
point of view. The only weak spot in it 
was that it did not sufficiently reckon with 
the genius and indomitable energy of 
George Rogers Clark, or sufficiently take 
into account the limitless capacity of his 
Long Knives to do, to dare, and to en- 
dure. 

George Rogers Clark had no news of all 
this for a time. Now that Captain Leonard 
Helm and his one Long Knife soldier were 
prisoners in the hands of the British, there 
was no one in Vincennes to send despatches 
to the American commander at Kaskaskia. 

In his eagerness for news, Col. Clark 
after a while planned to send Tom Harrod 
on another expedition to the Wabash, in 
search of information, and the two consulted 
throughout long hours of the night as to 
plans and ways and means. Tom Harrod 
was a born fighter, and he urged Clark to 
let him take Hawk Camden, Ike Todd, and 
Sim Crane with him. 

“You see,” he explained, “we four fel- 
lows could put up a good stiff fight in case 
289 


LONG KNIVES 


of necessity, and I had always rather fight 
than run. You see I don’t think much of 
those British regulars. They aren’t sol- 
diers. They’re hired men. And as for the 
French volunteers, you know what they 
amount to. We four fellows could clean 
out a whole company of them, and together 
we could fight our way out of any sort 
of situation, if we should find it necessary 
to fight out.” 

“I understand all that,” answered Clark, 
“but the four of you, all armed, would get 
a good deal less of information than you 
alone will. And after all it is information 
that I want, and not fighting. So I think 
I’ll send you alone, Tom. Perhaps I’ll 
send Hawk Camden, too, the day after you 
start, so that if one of you gets caught or 
killed the other will have a chance to bring 
me the exact information I want.” 

“All right,” answered Tom, “I’m ready 
for anything you choose to order.” 

“I know you are Tom. That’s why I pur- 
pose to send you on this extremely delicate 
and dangerous mission. Get yourself ready 
290 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 

to start about the day after to-morrow. I 
don’t want you to go sooner. There are 
some things here that may require atten- 
tion.” 

The Colonel did not explain himself and 
Tom Harrod of course asked him no ques- 
tions. In point of fact Col. Clark had 
reason to think it not unlikely that a cer- 
tain band of hostile Indians, which was hov- 
ering near, might attack Kaskaskia on the 
morrow or the day after. He had sent 
Hawk Camden to find out all he could about 
the band, and Hawk had been gone now for 
nearly twenty-four hours. Hawk was an 
ideal scout for this sort of work. He could 
crawl through high grass without attracting 
attention. He could lie perfectly still for 
hours at a time, making no noise of any 
kind. He never coughed or sneezed or 
cleared his throat at such times, nor did he 
change his position in a way to disturb the 
grass above him. He had keen eyes and 
singularly alert and accurate hearing. On 
this occasion Col. Clark had given him only 
one instruction: 


291 


LONG KNIVES 


“I want you to go and find out all you 
can about that band of red skins,” he said, 
“and then come back and tell me. Take 
as much time as you please, unless you find 
that they are going to attack us immedi- 
ately; in that case hurry back.” 

About an hour after Tom’s talk with Col. 
Clark concerning the proposed trip to Vin- 
cennes, Hawk came stalking into camp, 
soaked to the skin by the heavy rain, with 
his knees, elbows, and chest thickly plastered 
with mud. 

“Well, Hawk,” said Col. Clark, “what’s 
your report? What have you found out?” 

“Well, they’s twenty-one o’ them Injuns, 
an’ yestiddy,” — Hawk meant yesterday — 
“they was out in that patch o’ trees about a 
mile north o’ the town. They was purty 
tol’able drunk, so they wasn’t a lookin’ out 
very dost, an’ I crawled up to the very edge 
o’ the patch o’ woods, an’ counted ’em keer- 
ful like. To-day they has moved over to 
the patch o’ woods northwest o’ the town, 
an’ I sort o’ suspicion they’s plannin’ to 
292 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


make a dash on the cattle-pens. If so, 
they’ll do it purty soon.” 

“Why do you think so, Hawk?” 

“Kase they has got eight ponies with ’em, 
an’ that there patch o’ woods is so dost to 
town that ef a pony whinnied we’d hear it. 
The guards at the cattle-pens mout even 
hear ’em ef they was to stomp endurin’ of 
the night. So they jest naturally wouldn’t 
a’ sot down thar unlessin’ they was purty 
nigh ready for business.’* 

Turning to Tom, Col. Clark very quietly 
said: 

“Ask Capt. Bowman to report to me here 
at once.” 

Then turning to Hawk again, he asked: 

“How long since you had anything to 
eat?” 

“Sence about the middle o’ last night,” 
answered the mountaineer. 

“Well, go and get a bite somewhere as 
quickly as you can, and then come back to 
me. Take anything you find to eat at any 
of the messes.” 


293 


LONG KNIVES 


Captain Bowman reported promptly, and 
Clark gave him his orders. 

“I wish you to take fifty men, including 
ten mounted, and move quietly out of the 
town on the eastern side. Move over to the 
big gully that runs into the river; then go 
northward, as rapidly as you can, conceal- 
ing your men in the gully on the march. 
When you emerge from the upper end of 
the gully, swing around to the west keeping 
well out of sight of the red skins who are 
lurking in the grove west of the town. 
Then, as secretly as you can, I want you 
to deploy your men on foot so as to surround 
the grove, except on the town side of it — 
covering the western side of it and lapping 
a little way over the north and south sides. 
It will take you an hour or a little more to 
put yourself in position, for you must make 
a wide detour to escape discovery. When 
your position is securely gained, if the sav- 
ages haven’t discovered you, let your men 
creep forward silently, closing in upon the 
woodland. The moment your presence is 
discovered, let the mounted men charge, the 
294 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


infantry following, with a yell. Fall upon 
the Indians with all your might, and try to 
drive them toward the town. I’ll be waiting 
for them with the rest of the force, am- 
bushed in the high prairie broom straw. If 
you can drive them in on me I’ll take care 
of them. If they don’t come my way at 
the first assault, I’ll fall on them in rear 
and on both flanks and do them up. The 
important thing is not to let one of them es- 
cape to report the strength, or weakness, 
rather, of our force to the other bands.” 

As soon as Bowman’s command cleared 
the town on the east, Clark led the rest of 
the force — except a strong guard which he 
left in the town — out into the tall, dead and 
rain-soaked grass on the west. F ortunately 
this growth extended very nearly to the 
edge of the town, so that without discovery 
he succeeded in putting the men into it. 
There, by his orders, they lay down upon 
the ground, slowly deployed into a curved 
line, creeping as they moved, so as not to 
show themselves above the grass, and slowly 
advancing toward the Indian-haunted wood- 
295 


LONG KNIVES 


land. By Col. Clark’s orders the two ends 
of the line were thrown forward, making a 
crescent of the whole. This was done in 
order to cover so much of the northern and 
southern sides of the grove as Captain Bow- 
man’s movement might leave open. It was 
Clark’s purpose in this way completely to 
surround the Indians before attacking them. 

The movement was very slow of necessity, 
as the men had to lie so low and move so 
cautiously; and even if it could have been 
made with greater rapidity, Col. Clark 
would not have permitted that. He wanted 
to give Bowman time to put his men in po- 
sition. 

Unfortunately for the plan of battle the 
Indians have exceedingly quick ears, and, 
lying so close to Kaskaskia, they were on 
the alert. About the time when, by Col. 
Clark’s reckoning, Bowman should be com- 
ing out of the upper end of the gully, and 
long before he could complete his move- 
ment into the position assigned to him, one 
of Clark’s men sneezed. 

Almost instantly all the Indians rushed 
296 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


forward to assail Clark’s force, shouting 
like demons and firing as they came on. 
The Long Knives sprang to their feet and 
gave the red skins shout for shout and three 
or four bullets to their one. 

There could be no doubt as to the issue 
of such a fight but Clark was chagrined to 
think that its prematurity would permit the 
Indians to escape the moment their first 
onset should be repulsed. Bowman was 
not yet on the other side of the grove to cut 
off retreat, as Clark had planned that he 
should be, and all because a man had been 
unable to control his desire to sneeze. 

Indians never continue long in a losing 
fight. Their method always is to attack 
and, if their enemies stand firm, to run 
away. They did so on this occasion. 
After their first dash forward they turned 
and ran back into the grove, where they 
halted for a brief while, firing from behind 
trees at Clark’s pursuing force. 

In the meanwhile Capt. Bowman, the mo- 
ment he heard the firing, had guessed the 
situation, and without making the intended 
297 


LONG KNIVES 


detour, led his men at a full run, straight 
to the western edge of the grove. Just as 
he got there, the Indians, abandoning the 
unequal struggle, turned and ran again. 
They had gone less than a hundred yards 
when they ran into Bowman’s line advancing 
at a full run, and fell again under a wither- 
ing fire. Clark hearing the crack, crack, 
crack, of Bowman’s rifles, set his men at a 
run and fell upon the savages in rear with 
demoniacal yells to emphasize the deadliness 
of the firing. 

After the red skins were thus caught be- 
tween two fires, the affair was one of min- 
utes. Almost within the time that it takes 
to write it the struggle was at an end. Not 
a single Indian was left with a gun in his 
hand, not one had escaped, and but for 
Clark’s and Bowman’s stern control of their 
men, not one would have been left alive. As 
it was, most of them were dead where they 
had fallen fighting, and the rest were dis- 
armed prisoners. 

But the effect of the stroke did not end 
there. This had been only one of the several 
298 


A CRITICAL SITUATION 


bands of hostile Indians sent into the Illinois 
hy Hamilton, to annoy the Long Knives 
there. The summary destruction of this 
band, struck terror to the rest, and before 
another nightfall the friendly Indians re- 
ported that all the hostile bands had “gone 
to look for the big waters” — which meant 
that they had retreated to the region beyond 
the Great Lakes, from which they had come. 


299 


XXY 


A NAPOLEONIC PLAN 

T OM did not make the intended trip to 
Vincennes in search of information. 
The information came of itself as it 
were. On the 29th of January, 1779, there 
came from Vincennes to Kaskaskia one 
Francis Vigo, a Spanish merchant, though 
an Italian by birth, who had interests in St. 
Louis, in Vincennes and elsewhere. He 
bore news of the utmost importance. 

He told Col. Clark how arrogantly Ham- 
ilton had treated the people of Vincennes, 
confiscating their food stuffs and other 
goods without compensation of any kind, 
thus reducing them to poverty, and riding 
rough-shod over their sensibilities in other 
ways. 

More important still, he reported that 
Hamilton had sent his Indians south and his 
300 


A NAPOLEONIC PLAN 


French militia north to await the coming of 
spring, so that he had at most only eighty 
men and probably far less than that number 
in the fort at Post Vincennes, with three 
cannon and some swivels. He reported that 
Hamilton was resting easily, nothing being 
further from his mind than the possibility of 
an attack; that he regarded the overflowed 
rivers and the extreme severity of the win- 
ter weather as an insuperable obstacle to all 
campaigning, whether on his own part or 
on the part of his enemies. The floods and 
the fearful cold seemed to him a trusty bul- 
wark on the one hand and a sufficient rea- 
son for inaction on the other. 

Francis Vigo was not only a man to be 
trusted implicitly; he was a warm friend of 
the Americans, as the Spanish at St. Louis 
generally were, and above all his reputation 
for integrity, truthfulness and accuracy of 
statement was known and honored all over 
the western country. 

Clark received his intelligence gladly, 
asking hundreds of eager questions in order 
to acquaint himself with every minutest de- 
301 


LONG KNIVES 


tail of the situation, every fact, big or little, 
that might in any way influence his own 
action. 

In the first place he was relieved of all 
fear of an attack upon him at that time. 
It was certain that Hamilton had utterly 
abandoned all thought of a march against 
the Illinois towns during the winter, and as 
for the hostile Indians, that little skirmish 
in which Clark had so dramatically disposed 
of one of their bands, had satisfied the others 
of the wisdom of returning to Canada, 
whence they had come. 

But Hamilton’s plan of conquest during 
the following spring was a comprehensive 
one, and he had the means of carrying it 
out. He could muster forces so great that 
there would be no possibility of withstand- 
ing them, either in the Illinois or in Ken- 
tucky. If he were left to carry out his 
programme he would not only reconquer the 
Illinois, but, with the aid of the Northern 
and Southern Indians acting together as he 
had arranged to have them do, he would 
sweep over Kentucky, destroy the settle- 
302 


A NAPOLEONIC PLAN 


ments there and wipe out every vestige of 
American settlement west of the Alle- 
ghenies. 

The situation was an appalling one, and 
George Rogers Clark had only about a hun- 
dred and fifty men w T ith whom to meet it. 
Many years later he described it in a report 
which he made by request, to Thomas Jef- 
ferson and James Madison. In that report 
he wrote: 

“We now viewed ourselves in a very criti- 
cal situation — in a manner cut off from any 
intercourse between us and the United 
States. We knew that Governor Hamilton, 
in the spring, by a junction of his Northern 
and Southern Indians (which he had pre- 
pared for), would be at the head of such 
a force that nothing in this quarter could 
withstand his arms — that Kentucky must 
immediately fall; and well if the desolation 
would end there. If we could immediately 
make our way good to Kentucky, we were 
convinced that before we could raise a force 
even sufficient to save that country it would 
be too late, as all the men in it, joined by 
303 


LONG KNIVES 


the troops we had, would not be sufficient; 
and to get timely succor from the interior 
counties [eastern Virginia] was out of the 
question.” 

It was in such a strait that the Napoleonic 
impulse and the Napoleonic genius of 
George Rogers Clark came to his aid. See- 
ing clearly that if he should wait for his 
enemy to perfect his arrangements and make 
his attack, that enemy would easily over- 
whelm him, he instantly decided not to wait 
but to assail the enemy on his own account 
before he should be ready. It was the Na- 
poleonic policy of striking with the head 
of the column, the Napoleonic policy of de- 
fending oneself by assailing the enemy, 
the Napoleonic policy of hitting your adver- 
sary between the eyes before he expects you 
to hit him at all. And yet Clark had never 
heard of Napoleon, who was then a school 
boy. 

It was a daring, a desperate thing to do. 
It was the inspiration of a hero, the con- 
ception of a desperado. Its audacity was 
altogether splendid. 

George Rogers Clark decided to march 
304 


A NAPOLEONIC PLAN 


upon Vincennes at once, with his small 
force, and to risk everything upon the 
chance of destroying Hamilton before he 
should himself be ready to strike. Writing 
of this decision, in his report to Jefferson 
and Madison, Clarke explained, after the 
simple manner of a devoted soldier: 

“We saw but one alternative, which was 
to attack the enemy in their quarters. If 
we were fortunate, it would save the whole. 
If otherwise, it would be nothing more than 
what would certainly be the consequence if 
we should not make the attempt.” 

Accordingly Clark determined upon the 
desperate venture. How desperate it was, 
it is difficult to make a modern reader un- 
derstand. Between Kaskaskia and Vin- 
cennes there stretched nearly two hundred 
and fifty miles of wintry wilderness. The 
prairies everywhere were flooded so that men 
crossing them must wade ankle- deep at the 
least, waist-deep or chin-deep for quite half 
the time, with now and then a stretch of un- 
certain distance that could be crossed only 
by swimming. 

The winter was severe. The water every- 
305 


LONG KNIVES 


where was at the freezing point, so that in 
wading the soldier must often break sheet 
ice and in swimming he must breast ice of 
a thicker and more difficult character. The 
food supply was exceedingly scant, and the 
means of replenishing it were few and un- 
certain. Even after enlisting all the young 
Frenchmen upon whom he could in anywise 
rely for faithful service, George Rogers 
Clark had no more than a hundred and 
seventy men with whom to undertake this 
desperate adventure, but with the truly he- 
roic resolution that always inspired him in 
times of stress he instantly decided upon the 
venture, and to the eternal credit of his Long 
Knives he afterwards wrote that the enter- 
prise “met with the approbation of every 
individual belonging to us ! 3 

There indeed, lay Clark’s strength. He 
had no cowards, no shirks, no shrinkers in 
his army. His fighting force consisted of 
brave, resolute, stalwart men, upon whose 
courage, energy and endurance he could im- 
plicitly rely — and he knew it. 

He gave his orders accordingly. 

306 


XXVI 


THE BEGINNING OF A TERRIBLE MARCH 

I T was on the 29th of January that Fran- 
cis Vigo arrived at Kaskaskia. It was 
on the 30th day of that month that 
George Rogers Clark finished his question- 
ing of the merchant, and felt that he fully 
understood the problem with which he had 
to deal. 

There was much to be done by way of 
preparation, but it was done quickly. The 
French people of Kaskaskia, Cahokia and 
the country round about, very eagerly de- 
sired the success of Colonel Clark’s move- 
ment, and they lent themselves right will- 
ingly to the work of preparation. Clark’s 
treatment of them had been in such con- 
trast with that of the arrogant British com- 
mander that they looked with a terrible 
dread upon the possibility of again falling 
under Hamilton’s rule. 

307 


LONG KNIVES 


They, and especially the young women, 
strongly encouraged their young men to en- 
list with Clark, and enough of them did so 
to swell his force to a hundred and seventy 
men. There were enough of these young 
Frenchmen in the country to have given 
him a fighting force of nearly or quite twice 
that number, but they were a people who 
would not fight, and so he secured only about 
a score of them as recruits. 

But he had the good will at least of all 
the people of the Illinois. Provisions were 
prepared, the enthusiasm was inspiring, and 
within a few days every man in the little 
army had all he could carry of food sup- 
plies. 

But there could be no wagon train to 
carry reserve provisions. It would have 
been impossible to drive wagons over the 
prairies in their flooded condition, while the 
widely overflowed rivers and streams offered 
a still more insuperable obstacle. 

Clark’s little force must carry on the per- 
sons of the men themselves whatever of sup- 
plies they were to carry at all. For the 
808 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 


rest they must depend upon the success of 
their huntsmen in finding game on the now 
desolate prairie, from which pretty nearly 
all the game — furred or feathered — had re- 
treated to escape the rigors of winter and of 
flood. 

But George Rogers Clark — in spite of his 
desperate daring — was a prudent com- 
mander as well as a gifted one. He fore- 
saw that upon reaching the region of Vin- 
cennes, his supplies, both of food and of 
ammunition — the two supreme necessaries of 
military operations — were likely to be ex- 
hausted. He knew he must provide in some 
way for reserve supplies to meet him there. 
There was also the necessity of having some 
artillery with him, with which to assail and 
reduce the fort at Vincennes, and it was 
utterly impossible, under the flood con- 
ditions then existing, to take artillery across 
country and over the swollen rivers and 
creeks. 

There were no steamboats anywhere in the 
world then or for many years afterwards. 
But there were boats on the Mississippi 
309 


LONG KNIVES 


river which could be propelled — though 
slowly and with difficulty, — up stream as 
well as down. These were known as keel 
boats, to distinguish them from flat boats. 
A keel boat was built something like a steam- 
boat’s hull with a deck-house on top to hold 
freight. The boat was sharp at both ends, 
and along each side there was a “walk way” 
as it was called. The walk way was a flat 
platform about two feet wide, extending 
nearly the whole length of the boat. When 
it was desired to take a keel boat up stream 
eight or ten men were stationed on each 
walk way. They carried long poles, which 
they set at an angle in the water, their lower 
ends resting on the bottom, and their upper 
ends against the men’s shoulders. The men 
walked toward the stern, pushing on their 
poles with all their might. When the first 
man reached the end of the walk way, he 
stepped off to the deck and walked back 
to the bow to set his pole again, each of the 
others following him in turn, so that the 
pushing never ceased for a moment, and the 
boat was made to travel up stream at the 
310 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 

rate of two or three miles an hour accord- 
ing to the swiftness of the current. If at 
any point the current was too strong for 
the boat to make headway by poling, or if 
the bottom was too soft for that sort of 
work, then the boatmen “cordelled” the craft 
instead. That is to say, they fastened a 
rope to a post on the side of the boat next 
the shore. This cordelling post was placed 
about one-third of the way from bow to 
stern, so that a helmsman, with his rudder, 
could steer the craft and keep her from run- 
ning her nose into the bank. All the men 
except the steersman, would go ashore and 
walk along the margin of the stream, pulling 
upon the long rope, which was passed over 
each man’s shoulder and seized by him in 
front. 

Col. Clark was fortunate enough to find 
one of these boats at Kaskaskia — one of the 
largest craft of the kind that had ever been 
built. It was very strongly put together, 
nearly new, and in every way adapted to 
Clark’s purposes. 

Upon this keel boat he placed all the cam 

311 


LONG KNIVES 


non from the fort at Kaskaskia, so dispos- 
ing the guns that they might be fired from 
the decks in any desired direction. Then 
he put on board all his reserve supplies of 
food and ammunition. This boat — the first 
fighting craft that ever floated on the west- 
ern waters, — was named the “Willing.” 
She mounted two four pounder cannon and 
four large swivels. 

Captain John Rogers was placed in com- 
mand of her, and she had forty-six men for 
her crew, leaving Clark with less than a hun- 
dred and thirty men for his marching force. 
Clark ordered Captain Rogers to proceed 
with all haste down the Mississippi to the 
mouth of the Ohio, thence up the Ohio to 
the Wabash, and thence up the Wabash to 
the mouth of the White River, about twenty 
or twenty-five miles below Vincennes. 

Captain Rogers sailed on the fourth of 
February — only a few days after Col. Clark 
had decided upon his daring movement upon 
Vincennes. He had orders to force his way 
up the rivers to the point indicated, and 
312 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 


there to secrete himself until Clark, march- 
ing overland, should give him further or- 
ders. But to cover all possibilities Clark 
directed him that if he found his presence 
discovered, he was to use his cannon and 
his riflemen in doing all the damage he could 
to the enemy. Especially Clark enjoined 
him not to retire from the Wabash so long 
as there was the remotest hope of the land 
expedition’s arrival. At the same time, un- 
der Clark’s instructions, Captain Rogers 
was so to conduct himself as to give no hint 
that a land expedition was expected or in 
progress. 

Having started the gunboat on its way, 
Clark consulted with Tom Harrod, as it was 
his habit to do in every emergency. Tom 
Harrod was the only staff officer he allowed 
himself, and Tom was his personal friend. 
He felt that he could trust him as he could 
trust nobody else. He relied upon Tom’s 
discretion, and better still, he knew that 
Tom’s courage and daring were limitless, 
and that whatever charge he might give to 
313 


LONG KNIVES 


the boy would be executed with judgment 
and with a military precision that knew 
neither fault nor failure. 

So, on the night after the gunboat started, 
Clark called Tom into conference. He ex- 
plained : 

“I have given orders that if the gunboat 
finds herself in difficulty after she gets into 
the Wabash, her men shall be set at work 
at once to build pirogues — dugouts, you 
know. The forty odd of them can make 
twenty pirogues in a day, and it will be 
a long time before the enemy can be a match 
for us on the water. In the meantime our 
problem is to cross country so quickly that 
we shall be at Vincennes as soon as the gun- 
boat arrives at the mouth of White River. 

“Now, the most difficult problem of our 
march is the moral one. If we can keep our 
men in spirits we can do this. If they be- 
come discouraged, there will be a disastrous 
end to our expedition. 

“I am depending a good deal upon you, 
Tom, to keep the men in spirits. On the 
first day we shall march only three or four 
314 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 


miles, and then encamp on a piece of high 
ground for the night. You know how hard 
it is, when troops have been in comfortable 
garrison, to disentangle them, and to recon- 
cile them with worse and less comfortable 
conditions. I don’t want them to be tired 
when they go into their first night’s bivouac, 
and I don’t want the conditions of that 
bivouac to be discouraging. It so happens 
that after wading ankle-deep for three or 
four miles, we shall come to a bit of high and 
dry ground. After a march like that the 
men will not be overtired, and the comfort 
of a high-ground bivouac will encourage 
them to go forward. Heaven knows they 
will need the encouragement in view of what 
is to come later. I shall depend upon you 
to help me keep them in spirits after that, 
and I’ll talk with you about that to-night. 
But in the meanwhile I expect you to lead 
the wading, and to keep up a song as you 
go. You know how to sing, and the men 
know all your songs. I’ve found a fellow, 
with a banjo who will wade by your side, and 
keep it up with you. Sing the j oiliest songs 
315 


LONG KNIVES 


you know, and keep on singing them. Be- 
sides I have a drummer boy, who is a jolly 
fellow, who also plays the banjo, and I’ll 
order him to march with you and the other 
ban joist, and beat time to your singing, 
when he isn’t playing the banjo.” 

It was under these orders and under these 
inspirations of jollity that the little force 
set out on the fifth of February, 1779, to 
conquer an empire. 

For the encouragement of the French re- 
cruits, Col. Clark secured the services of 
the priest, Pere Gibault, who celebrated 
mass, delivered a lecture to the men on their 
duty as soldiers, heard their confessions, and 
granted to them the church’s absolution for 
all their sins, so that they might confront 
death in the discharge of duty, without fear 
of purgatory. 

The little band set out gayly. Every man 
carried upon his person a pack holding such 
provisions as he could carry. Most of the 
men carried blankets, bought of the Indians. 
Close up under every man’s right arm was 
a trusty powder horn. Attached to every 
316 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 


man’s belt was a bullet pouch filled to the 
point of choking, with the leaden pellets 
which were depended upon to kill game on 
the march and to do execution upon the 
enemy when the opportunity should come. 
Every man carried a few spare flints in his 
pockets, and every man had his long knife 
in his belt, handy for all uses, from the 
carving of his food to the killing of his 
game, or — if need be — the destruction of his 
adversary in hand to hand conflict. The 
long knife was an implement of many uses, 
and it served them all well. 

Having crossed the Kaskaskia river and 
marched the predestined three or four miles 
to the high ground selected for the first 
camping place, Clark remained there over 
the sixth of February in order to perfect his 
organization and complete his plans. 

He devoted himself all day on the sixth 
to this task. He called his captains about 
him and explained to them precisely what 
he purposed to do, and precisely what each 
of them was expected to do. 

He laid special emphasis upon jollity and 
317 


LONG KNIVES 


the necessity of keeping up the spirits of 
the men. Even on those first nights of the 
march he put aside his own dignity, as- 
sembled his men about him, set the singing 
going, joining in it himself right heartily, 
and improvising a dance on the prairie for 
the benefit of the Frenchmen. 

George Rogers Clark was still a very 
young man then, and an extremely active 
one. He had learned, in boyhood, to “cut 
the pigeon wing,” — as a certain difficult ex- 
hibition of dancing skill was then called — 
and he and Tom Harrod gave amusing dem- 
onstrations of their skill in that peculiar 
gymnastic exercise. They even erected a little 
fence-like barrier of sticks, which a single 
touch would throw down, and, taking turns, 
would dance toward it, leap into the air, 
cut the pigeon wing over it, clap their heels 
together twice and descend on the opposite 
side without disturbing the frail barrier. 

One after another of the men tried the 
trick, some of them failing to accomplish 
it, some of them doing it, but all rejoicing 
in the frolic, which was the thing that 
318 


A TERRIBLE MARCH 


George Rogers Clark was trying to bring 
about. 

The camp was full of jollity. The men 
were happy and full of fun. The moral 
conditions were altogether favorable to the 
further progress of the march and to the ul- 
timate accomplishment of the purpose with 
which the desperately daring expedition had 
been undertaken. 


319 


XXVII 


WINTRY WORK 

A FTER two nights and a day thus em- 
ployed, the little company, whose task 
it was to conquer for the United 
States an imperial domain of the most fruit- 
ful country that ever was made, set out on 
its march. 

Some of the men wore high boots made 
in Kentucky, some of them made of tanned 
leather and some of rawhide. Some wore 
Indian mocassins laced high upon the leg. 
Some, less fortunate, were barefoot except 
that they had wrapped their feet in prairie 
grass, or encased them in the skins of moles 
and such other “small deer” as the prairie 
afforded. All were ready and eager to 
march. All were in good spirits and their 
commander intended to keep them so. 

To that end he gave to each company in 
320 


WINTRY WORK 


its turn — one company one day and another 
the next — the use of such horses as he had, 
and the privilege of riding at will over the 
prairie in search of game. In the evening 
the company so privileged for the day, was 
expected to give a feast, inviting the men 
of the other companies to join them. In 
this way a spirit of friendly rivalry was 
kept up. Each company tried to outdo its 
fellow of the day before in the work of 
providing game for the evening feast, and 
at every such feast there was all of frolic 
that the rollicking commander of the expe- 
dition could induce. 

The march was toilsome beyond concep- 
tion. In all but the very best and most fav- 
orable stretches of it, the men waded ankle- 
deep in water and half-leg-deep in the mud 
beneath the water. Often the wading was 
f ar deeper. When the company approached 
a river or creek, or even a lesser stream, 
there were bottom lands to cross, and these 
were overflowed to the depth of one or two 
or even three feet, while the soil beneath 
them was so far softened that the walking 
321 


LONG KNIVES 


was scarcely better than it would have been 
if the mud had been made of soft soap. 

The nights were sharply frosty, some- 
times severely cold, so that when the march 
was begun early in the morning, the water 
was everywhere covered with thin sheets of 
ice which sorely lacerated the shins and the 
calves of the men. 

But George Rogers Clark was always the 
first to plunge in, and he did so with a 
huntsman’s shout, which presently changed 
to a song, in the chorus of which all could 
join. 

At night there were blazing camp fires 
on such spots of high ground as it was 
possible to find, and then came a frolic that 
atoned to the men for the severity of the 
day’s work. There was no whiskey, no ar- 
tificial stimulant of any kind, and therefore 
there was no next morning’s reaction. Be- 
tween Kaskaskia and the Wabash river there 
was no town, no village, no hamlet, — not 
even so much as a country store or an isolated 
cabin. It was all wilderness absolute, un- 
broken and untrodden, except in the Indian 
322 






WINTRY WORK 


trails. As a result, the mighty f eastings 
of the men had no touch of drunkenness in 
them. Their jollity was only such as 
healthy men might enjoy in a natural way, 
and the sleep that followed them was re- 
freshing and invigorating. 

At that season, and in the overflowed con- 
dition of the country, game was exceed- 
ingly scarce. But such game as there was 
was easily captured for the reason that it 
had all fled to those little hill tops which 
were covered with tree growths. In the 
search for wild things that might afford 
food the men had only to visit these bits of 
timber land, sure of finding there whatever 
there might be of game left alive in the 
region they were traversing. 

There was little enough of this. Now 
and then a little flock of prairie chickens was 
discovered, and a few of them killed while 
the rest alertly flew away to some other 
bit of timber land, five or ten miles distant. 
Once in a great while a poor, half-starved 
deer was discovered and secured. There 
were a good many squirrels and rabbits in 
323 


LONG KNIVES 


some of the timber clumps, while in others 
there were none at all. 

As the little army went farther and far- 
ther eastward, the prairie became lower and 
flatter, with fewer and fewer patches of 
timber land, until one night, with an overcast 
sky and a pouring rain to add to the dismal 
darkness, the weary men were obliged to 
make their camp in a place where the water 
was three or four inches deep. Col. Clark 
would have pushed on farther in search of 
higher ground if he had not known his 
geography too well. He knew that he was 
now approaching the stream known as the 
Little Wabash, and that the farther he 
should go the lower the level of the land and 
the deeper the water would be. There 
seemed nothing to be done except to halt the 
force where it was and let it sleep as best it 
might in three or four inches of water, with- 
out that most cheering of all camp adjuncts, 
a fire. 

Then Hawk Camden’s skill came into 
play. 

“Ef you fellers will dig up the ground 
324 


WINTRY WORK 


round here an’ make a sort o’ mound like, 
out’n the dirt, we’ll have a rip roarin’ fire in 
an hour or maybe in half an hour,” he said. 

“You’ve got to git your dirt from way 
over there,” pointing, “’cause ef you take it 
from right round the fire you’ll make a sort 
o’ hole, an’ with this flood on we don’t want 
to sleep in a hole. Dig up the dirt way 
back there an’ pile it up here till you make 
a mound four or five inches above the water. 
Make it broad enough to hold all on us, an’ 
me an’ Sim Crane an’ Ike Todd’ll do the 
rest.” 

Col. Clark did not know what Hawk 
Camden intended to do, but he had un- 
bounded faith in Hawk’s skill and ingenuity. 
So he set the whole force at work, digging 
up mud, carrying it in blankets, and deposit- 
ing it in a pile at the point where the water 
was shallowest. 

In the meanwhile Hawk Camden, Ike 
Todd, Sim Crane, and one other man, went 
away into the darkness. 

By the time that the mound was built, 
Hawk and his companions returned with a 
325 


LONG KNIVES 


blanketful of black stones, which they 
dumped upon the newly made earth island. 

“What ye goin’ to do with them rocks?” 
asked one of the men, incredulous of good 
from such a source. 

“I’m a goin’ to make the hottest fire you 
ever see out’n ’em,” answered Hawk, “an’ 
more’n that they ain’t rocks. Them’s lumps 
of outcrop coal.” 

“What’s outcrop coal?” asked the other. 

“It’s coal what crops out in a creek bank 
or a hillside, an’ the like o’ that. I didn’t 
know they was coal out here in the Illinois 
tell I noticed it over there jest before the 
column halted.” 

“But what’s coal, anyhow?” 

“I dunno. But it’ll burn better’n wood ef 
you give it a chance. I’ve tried it up in the 
Kanawha country. You wait an’ see. 
Half a dozen of you wade down there to 
that drounded out drift pile an’ bring a 
dozen or two dozen sticks of the drift wood 
over here. We’ll go for some more coal 
while you’re a doin’ of it, an’ then I’ll show 
you what a coal fire is like.” 

326 


WINTRY WORK 


The men were incredulous. They had 
never seen coal burn, and they did not be- 
lieve that Hawk Camden’s “rocks” — muddy 
and water-soaked as they seemed to be — 
could by any possibility be persuaded to 
burn. But Col. Clark ordered them to do 
as Hawk Camden had directed, and, with 
some reluctance they waded over to the sub- 
merged drift pile and brought thence a 
number of water-soaked sticks. When 
Hawk returned with another blanket load of 
coal, he placed the two largest sticks of 
drift wood a few feet apart but parallel to 
each other. Then he laid other sticks across 
them and near together, thus creating 
something like a grate. 

As he arranged all this he laid aside a 
stick now and then. These were mainly 
sycamore roots, and when the grate was 
ready, he shredded some of these to mere 
fragments. Then, with his tinder box, he 
created a little blaze on top of the grating 
of water-soaked sticks. Upon this he piled 
the rest of his shredded roots and upon them 
he piled the other sticks that he had laid 
327 


LONG KNIVES 


aside because of their comparative dryness. 

When the blaze mounted up, he heaped 
perhaps a dozen bushels of the highly in- 
flammable bituminous coal on top of the lit- 
tle fire. For a while the. men were convinced 
that these muddy “rocks” were putting the 
fire out, but after a little time they kindled, 
and presently those nearest the fire began 
retreating from its excessive heat. 

Then a shout went up for Hawk Camden 
and his “rocks,” and the cooking began of 
such provisions as the men possessed. 
Among other jthings Hawk had that day 
managed to find and kill a small deer, so 
that he was in fact the host of the occasion. 
There was little else of food in the camp, 
for the supplies brought from Kaskaskia 
were by this time exhausted, and as the com- 
pany had advanced farther and farther into 
the overflow of the rivers the supply of game 
had rapidly diminished until now nobody 
could find any live thing — nobody except 
Hawk Camden, whose knowledge of the 
ways of wild creatures seemed to give him 
a preternatural insight into the hiding 
328 


WINTRY WORK 


places of every species of game bird or ani- 
mal. And even he could find very little 
under the circumstances. 


•f-. 


329 


XXVIII 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME” 

C LARK slept that night at the remotest 
corner of the mud bank, with Tom 
Harrod by his side, and the two talked 
in low tones for an hour before going to 
sleep. 

“We’ve got the hardest part of our job 
before us,” Clark explained. “We’re now 
in the overflow of the Little Wabash. That 
is a river that runs nearly parallel with the 
Wabash, and empties into it about twenty 
miles below here. But the bottom lands be- 
tween the two rivers lie very low and from 
all I can see, I reckon the two rivers are 
practically one now. That is to say the 
overflow from one meets and mingles with 
the overflow from the other, so that it’s 
pretty nearly all water from here to Vin- 
cennes. The main thing is to keep the men’s 
330 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME 


spirits up. We must sing and laugh and 
cheer as we wade on, and — ” 

“But can we wade all the way?” 

“No, of course not. We’ll come to the 
main channel of the Little Wabash to-mor- 
row morning — indeed we aren’t far from it 
now — and we’ve got to get across it mainly 
by swimming. Then — a little farther on 
we’ll come to the Wabash itself. There I’ll 
have some pirogues made to serve us as 
ferryboats. But I tell you, Tom, our great- 
est difficulty will be in keeping the men’s 
spirits up. All this wading in ice-cold 
water is depressing, and from now on we’ll 
be very short of food. The only thing is for 
you and me and the Captains to be as jolly 
as possible, and to talk a good deal about 
the feasts we’re going to have when we get 
to Vincennes and capture all the provisions 
the Hair Buyer General has stored up 
there,.” 

“Hold on, what’s this?” said Tom, sud- 
denly standing up. 

“Why, the water is rising so fast that it 
has actually buried our mound.” 

331 


LONG KNIVES 


“No it hasn’t,” said Clark, who was a keen 
observer. “But this mud is very soft, and 
while lying here we’ve sunk into it. Of 
course, the water can’t rise much on a night 
like this.” 

“How do you mean? Why can’t it?” 

“Why, simply because the rain has 
stopped and there’s a very hard frost on.” 

“But how does that affect it?” 

“Why, don’t you see, the cold freezes the 
water that is in the mud and prevents it 
from flowing into the general flood. If 
you’ll feel of your clothing you’ll find it stiff 
with ice. So is all the mud in all these prai- 
ries. Every little brook, and every trickling 
stream of w T ater smaller than a brook is 
freezing over, so that no more water is flow- 
ing into the flood.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Tom. 
“But why didn’t the mud under us freeze 
so that we couldn’t sink into it?” 

“Because the warmth of our bodies pre- 
vented. We’ll move over a bit and rest on 
firmly-frozen ground. It’ll get soft after 
332 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME” 


a while, under the influence of our bodily 
heat. Then we’ll move again.” 

Thus a very uncomfortable night was 
passed and in the morning the French re- 
cruits were ready to quit in a body and go 
back to Kaskaskia. When they intimated 
their purpose to Col. Clark, he jeered at 
them, asking them how they expected to 
feed themselves on their return journey, 
and what they would say to the maidens of 
Kaskaskia, at whose suggestion and earnest 
instigation they had enlisted for the expe- 
dition. 

“And what will those pretty black-eyed 
girls say to you?” he asked, “when you tell 
them that you quit just as the victory was 
within our grasp ? They aren’t the sort of 
girls to take cowards for their partners in 
the dance, and when it comes to marrying, 
I’ll have all my victorious boys there to 
cut you out and to take the pick of the 
girls. 

“Now listen to me. We have pretty 
nearly completed this march and we’ve got 
everything our own way. We’ll be in Vin- 
333 


LONG KNIVES 


cennes within a few days, and will be mas- 
ters there. Hamilton has piled up food 
stuff s mountains high, and they’ll all be ours. 
If you quit us and go back, you’ll starve on 
the drenched prairies. If you stand to your 
colors and go on with us, you’ll share with 
us in our glory and you’ll soon feed so full 
on Hamilton’s provisions that you’ll wish 
you had an extra supply of stomach stor- 
age room in which to bestow more of the 
good things. But you can do as you please. 
You can play the part of brave men or 
you can play the part of cowards. Your 
course will have no influence upon ours. 
Whether you go with us like brave men or 
run away like sneaks, we Long Knives 
are going to march into Vincennes, capture 
the fort there, and fill ourselves full of the 
good food that Hamilton has so carefully 
stored up for us there. We’re soldiers. 
We’re Long Knives. We’re Virginians. 
We are not the sort of men that give up in 
the face of hardship and privation. Those 
things only nerve us anew and stimulate us 
to fresh endeavors. I tell you again we are 
334 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME 


going to take Vincennes. You can go with 
us like men, or you can quit us like cowards. 
I do not care which you do. Neither do my 
Long Knives. You must choose for your- 
selves and let the bright-eyed girls of Kas- 
kaskia and Cahokia decide what sort of men 
you are.” 

There was a double purpose to this speech 
and it had a double effect. It held the 
Frenchmen to their allegiance, and it stimu- 
lated the Long Knives to new courage and 
determination. After what their Colonel 
had said of their “grit” and their invincible 
endurance, they had a character to live up to, 
and every man among them was ready to die 
if necessary rather than falter in the hard 
duty that lay before them. 

During that day the column, marching 
through water, came to the main channel 
of the westerly branch of the Little Wabash 
— a river that flows nearly parallel with the 
Wabash proper and ultimately empties into 
it. 

The two branches of the Little Wabash 
lie within about three miles of each other, 
335 


LONG KNIVES 


but in their overflowed condition the entire 
space between them was covered several feet 
deep with water. 

Clark hurriedly set his men at work to 
make a large pirogue — a species of canoe — 
and when it was done, he ferried his men 
across the deep channel to the shallower wa- 
ter beyond. There he constructed out of 
drift wood a sort of platform above the 
water. Next he carried his baggage — 
mainly ammunition — across the deep water 
in the pirogue, and placed it on the plat- 
form to keep it dry. Then the men swam 
the pack horses across, and while the animals 
stood in the water three feet deep, they were 
loaded again with the baggage from the 
platform. 

This work occupied three days, and when 
it was done the march was resumed, the men 
wading through deep water and deeper mud, 
which, of course, made their progress very 
slow. As the floods had driven all the 
game away, and as their provision supply 
was about exhausted, sharp hunger was 
added to cold and wet and weariness, until 
336 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME 


any less resolute men than these would have 
given up the task in despair. 

At last, on the 17th of February, the col- 
umn reached the Embarras River, a stream 
which empties into the Wabash, only a few 
miles below Vincennes. 

The difficulty of crossing this stream 
proved to be so great that Clark abandoned 
the effort to do so, and set his men wading 
along its banks, following its course to the 
point at which it joins the Wabash. Dur- 
ing the first night of this march down the 
river the weary, wet and hungry Long 
Knives got what sleep they could on a very 
small and very muddy bit of ground that 
rose a few inches above the water. 

After three days of toilsome travel they 
reached the Wabash in a state of semi-star- 
vation, for they had had no food whatever 
for two days and nights. 

Clark found a little area of muddy 
ground above water, and there he pitched 
his camp, setting his men at work to build 
pirogues with which to cross the broad, 
raging stream. 


337 


LONG KNIVES 


He had hoped to find the gun-boat Will- 
ing there, with supplies of food for the 
famishing men, but she had not come, and 
a scout, sent down the river to look for her, 
reported that there were no signs of her 
anywhere to be seen. 

The Long Knives proved themselves to 
be as heroic in the endurance of hardship 
as they were in meeting danger. They 
made no murmur as they toiled at the task 
of constructing the boats, but Clark could 
not help observing that their physical 
strength was rapidly failing for want of 
food. The blows of their axes were grow- 
ing feeble, and they lacked that precision 
on which every pioneer, man or boy, prided 
himself. Their steps were shuffling and 
uncertain, their hands tremulous and their 
eyes dull and heavy. 

In brief, these men were starving, and 
Colonel Clark saw clearly that they must 
actually starve to death if food were not 
soon found for them somewhere. 

In this emergency the young commander 
talked with Tom Harrod. 

338 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME" 


“Your friend Hawk Camden,” he said, 
“seems to be able to find game even where 
there is none. Do you suppose he could go 
out and get us some meat?” 

“Why not send for him and ask him?” 
queried Tom. 

Hawk was sent for, and in reply to 
Clark’s questioning, he made a suggestion. 

“There’s a fat pony among the horses 
here, and if you’ll let me ride him out on the 
prairie, I think I might kill a Guyas Cutis, 
or some other strange sort o’ bear or deer. 
Anyhow, I’d bring some kind o’ meat into 
camp. But you see, I moutn’t bring the 
pony back.” 

Clark understood, and laughed. Then 
he said: 

“Ride the pony, of course, and Tom will 
go with you on another of the horses, so as 
to help you bring back the meat, if you kill 
anything.” 

The two set off and rode through the wa- 
ter toward the only bit of high, wooded land 
that was anywhere within sight. It lay a 
few miles distant. 


339 


LONG KNIVES 


When they arrived there, Hawk pro- 
ceeded to kill the pony, skin it and dress it. 
Then he cut the carcass into shapeless 
pieces, saying: 

“You see, Tom, they’s a prejudice agin 
eatin’ of horse meat, cause the Bible says 
you musn’t eat any sort o’ meat ’ceptin’ 
what comes from animals that’s got split 
hoofs an’ that chaws the cud. But its only 
a prejudice. Ef we’d a killed this pony in 
camp, a good many of the men would a’ 
hesitated to eat the meat, an’ in the same 
way, ef we was to take the meat back in a 
shape that the men could reconnize it as 
horse, some of ’em wouldn’t eat it. But by 
cuttin’ it up the way I’m a doin’, we kin 
pass it off on ’em as a new kind of deer or 
b’ar that lives only up here on the prairies, 
so’s our men ain’t used to it.” 

Very cleverly the two men cut the meat 
into unrecognizable joints, discarding every 
fragment that might be readily recognized 
as horse meat; and having packed the 
pieces in two blankets, folded so as to make 
bags of them, they placed the load on the 
340 


HAWK CAMDEN KILLS “GAME 


horse that Tom had ridden, using him as a 
pack animal. Then they set out for camp, 
wading and miring as they went, but feel- 
ing full of courage, for the reason that be- 
fore leaving the woodland they had cooked 
and themselves eaten a considerable steak 
from the rump of the pony. 

The camp, as has been explained, was 
pitched on one little island of high ground, 
high enough, at least, to be out of water. 
There, fires were built, and when the meat 
supply was brought in and the cooks began 
roasting and broiling it, there was some cu- 
riosity manifested to know what sort of 
game it was that Hawk Camden had killed. 
But Hawk was reticent, after his usual cus- 
tom. For answer to all questions about his 
meat supply, he said only: “Eat it and see. 
There’s a good many sorts o’ game in these 
here prairies, which I don’t know their 
names.” 

And the men did eat it. They fed full 
upon the pony meat and became jolly again, 
with renewed strength and reinvigorated 
courage to go on with their toilsome march. 

341 


LONG KNIVES 


To George Rogers Clark, Hawk, respect- 
fully touching his coon-skin cap, said: 

“I reckon that pony’s got lost, somehow, 
Colonel.” 

“It makes little difference,” answered 
Clark, “as I can’t carry any of the horses 
beyond this point. I must leave them here 
— probably to starve to death.” 

“Well, anyhow, that pony didn’t starve 
to death,” said Hawk, as he turned away. 
Then, with a wink, he added: “Neither 
did the men.” 


342 


XXIX 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 

A BOUT noon, on the twentieth of 
February, a small boat was seen by 
Clark’s sentinels, sneaking about 
among the trees on the other side of the 
river. Clark suspected that the five French- 
men in it were engaged in a tour of obser- 
vation, and instantly he ordered Tom to 
give chase in one of the pirogues that was 
nearly enough finished to be serviceable. 
Taking a crew of eight men to paddle, all 
of them carrying their rifles, Tom soon over- 
hauled the Vincennes boat, and made pris- 
oners of its occupants. 

They proved to be Frenchmen from Vin- 
cennes — whipped men, conquered men, men 
with no spirit remaining in them, men ready 
to surrender at challenge. A mere frown 
on Clark’s face so far terrified them that 
343 


LONG KNIVES 


they readily gave him every detail of infor- 
mation he desired as to the situation at Vin- 
cennes. 

They told him that Hamilton had only 
about fifty or sixty soldiers in the fort, and 
that he was no more expecting an attack 
by the Virginians than he was dreaming of 
the moon falling into his fortress. They 
told the American commander, also, and 
with a good deal of bitterness, how cruelly 
and brutally Hamilton had treated the 
French people of Vincennes, how he had 
taken from them nearly all the provisions 
they had possessed, how he had insulted and 
villified them as “traitors,” because they had 
sworn allegiance to the American Republic, 
and how he had in other ways trampled 
upon their sensibilities, even to the extent 
of closing their churches, silencing their 
priests, and mocking at their religion. 

Obviously these captive Frenchmen from 
Vincennes did not love the Hair-Buyer- 
General, and it was equally clear that their 
feeling toward him was shared by most of 
the French inhabitants of the town. 

344 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


That night a terrific rainfall began, and 
when morning came, Clark was seriously 
afraid that with such a downpour, continu- 
ing hour after hour without so much as a 
moment’s cessation, the flood in the rivers 
would completely drown him out, sweeping 
his little force helplessly away. 

He therefore called his pirogues into use 
— even those of them that were only half 
done — and ferried his force across to the 
eastern side of the Wabash — the side on 
which Vincennes lay. 

It was his hope to march into the town by 
nightfall and capture it without warning. 
But the floods were so great and the march- 
ing so difficult that this was impossible. 
There was “water, water everywhere,” with 
only here and there a little island, and the 
water was intensely cold, so that in wading 
through it — ankle-deep, knee-deep, waist- 
deep, and sometimes even chin-deep — the 
men became chilled to the bone and so far 
physically depressed as to retain scarcely 
anything at all of their courage or endur- 
ance. 


345 


LONG KNIVES 


But Clark inspired and encouraged 
them by personally leading them. He was 
the first man to plunge into the ice-cold 
flood, shouting, laughing and singing as he 
did so. He was accompanied by Tom Har- 
rod, Hawk Camden, Sim Crane and Ike 
Todd, together with the banjo-player and 
the little drummer boy, who, in spite of all 
hardships, continued to behave like a com- 
ical little monkey, greatly to the amusement 
of the well-nigh exhausted men. 

In some places the water was so deep that 
the ban joist had to hold his “music ma- 
chine,” as Hawk Camden called it, high 
above his head; but even in that position he 
continued to play his accompaniments while 
the others sang. The drummer boy, who 
was scarcely more than four feet high, 
sometimes found himself completely out of 
his depth. When that happened, he asked 
two of the others to “boost” him, and mount- 
ing his drum, he used it as a substitute for 
a boat, the others towing him along, while 
he “cut up his monkey shines,” as the men 
phrased it. He might have got into one of 
346 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


the pirogues if he had chosen, but he pre- 
f erred to ride on his drum because it amused 
the men, especially when the drum rolled 
over, as it did every few minutes, dropping 
him into the water with a splash. He could 
swim like a duck, and as he was already 
thoroughly wet, he rather enjoyed these 
mishaps. Besides, they amused the weary 
men and kept them laughing, and the little 
fellow liked nothing so much as to make 
men laugh at his antics. 

In these deeper parts the men had to hold 
their rifles above their heads, which added 
greatly to their weariness. The shorter 
men, for whose stature the water was some- 
times too deep, were helped over the deep 
places by the taller ones, two of whom, 
grasping the, elbows of a smaller one, 
would tow him forward until they reached 
water shallow enough for him to wade 
again. 

In all respects this day’s march was the 
most exhausting one the men had yet been 
called upon to endure. But worse was to 
come, as we shall see hereafter. Sometimes 
347 


LONG KNIVES 


the weaker men would utterly give out, so 
that they simply could not take another 
step. When that happened, Colonel Clark 
would have the exhausted ones placed in the 
pirogues to rest, and when their strength 
came back, they took up the march again, 
giving place to others who had given out. 

When night came, camp was made upon 
a little hillock, and the worn out men were 
permitted to rest. But they had no food, 
and they were well-nigh famished. The 
horses had been left behind, beyond the 
river, so that even Hawk Camden’s ingenu- 
ity could not hit upon any device for sup- 
plying food, except that Hawk dug for 
himself a supply of earthworms and cooked 
and ate them. Hawk Camden had no 
prejudices that he permitted to stand be- 
tween him and hunger. 

The next morning there was a crust of 
thin ice over the margins of the water, so 
that the exhausted and famished men hesi- 
tated to take up the terrible march. By 
way of encouraging them, Colonel Clark 
blackened his face with gunpowder, and 
348 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


with a Kentucky war-whoop, plunged in. 
The rest could do nothing less than follow 
their leader, and they did so. The drum- 
mer boy and Tom Harrod set the songs go- 
ing, and kept them going. 

But the struggle was one of terrific dif- 
ficulty. The weaker of the men were so 
far exhausted that they would have lain 
down and perished in the ice-cold water but 
for the assistance of comrades who, taking 
them by the elbows, almost dragged them 
forward, encouraging them with the assur- 
ance that land was within sight ahead, where 
woodlands loomed up into view. But the 
woodlands proved to be a delusion and a 
snare. There were great trees there, to be 
sure, and there was an abundance of under- 
brush. But the water was deep around the 
roots of the trees which had seemed to prom- 
ise dry land when seen from a distance, and 
the underbrush seriously interfered with the 
progress of the pirogues. 

Slowly, toilsomely, but with camp songs 
to cheer them, the little company marched 
on, until about nightfall they reached a 
maple grove on a little knoll known as the 
349 


LONG KNIVES 


Sugar Camp, six miles from Vincennes. 
They were utterly worn out with their exer- 
tions, and the encampment for the night 
brought them nothing of cheer or encour- 
agement, for THEY HAD NOT ONE OUNCE 

OF FOOD TO EAT. 

In very truth, these men, drenched to the 
skin, chilled to the marrow, and exhausted 
by the marching, were in a state of actual 
starvation. 

But six miles away lay Vincennes, and 
there was food there in plenty. Tom Har- 
rod — indomitable frontiersman that he was 
— suggested that after an hour’s rest in the 
sugar camp, the march should be resumed 
by night and prosecuted to the end. 

“Why not make a breakfast appointment 
in Vincennes, and keep it?” he asked. 
“Deep as the water is in places, we can be 
there before Hamilton fires his sunrise gun. 
We’ll find something to eat in the town, and 
then we can fall upon the fort and capture 
it, with all its stores, before dinner time.” 

But Clark, who knew the limitations of 
human endurance better than the willowy 
350 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


Kentucky boy did, knew also the danger 
of a night march under such conditions — 
the danger, namely, of the scattering and 
disintegration of the fighting force. He 
knew that if the assault upon the fort was 
to be successful, it must be made by all his 
men, standing shoulder to shoulder and act- 
ing together with courage, strength and de- 
termination. 

Accordingly, he overruled Tom’s sug- 
gestion and decreed that the company 
should remain where it was for the night, 
the men getting what rest they could, thaw- 
ing themselves out by the camp fires, and 
consoling themselves for their present lack 
of food by anticipating the feasts they were 
to enjoy in Vincennes twenty- four hours 
later, or less. 

Colonel Clark was tortured by anxiety 
on more than one account. He gravely 
feared that his men, in their worn out and 
starving condition, might not be able to drag 
their weary limbs over the six miles of over- 
flowed land that still separated them from 
the goal. And even if they should prove 
351 


LONG KNIVES 


equal to that task, he still more gravely 
feared that they would fall fainting when 
they reached the town, and be utterly un- 
able to maintain themselves in the fight that 
must follow if Hamilton should have spirit 
enough to come out of the fort and oppose 
their entry into Vincennes. 

The gun-boat Willing had not yet come 
up, though the time set for her arrival was 
past by several days. He learned the cause 
of the delay a few days later. With the 
very high water in the river, the current had 
proved to be unusually strong, and in many 
places the water, even near the submerged 
and tree-covered banks, had been too deep 
to permit the poles to reach bottom. For 
a considerable part of the way, therefore, 
cordelling had been necessary, and with the 
water on top of the banks waist-deep, and 
sometimes breast-deep, and running very 
swiftly, the men had found cordelling a very 
slow and difficult process. 

But Colonel Clark knew nothing of this 
until several days later. On that terrible 
night in the sugar camp he had every rea- 
352 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


son to fear that some party of British or 
Indians had captured the boat, with all his 
supplies of food and ammunition, with all 
the cannon he had depended upon to reduce 
the fort at Vincennes, and with the forty- 
six Long Knives, who constituted her 
crew — forty-six men whom he could in no 
wise spare from his very slender little army. 

He had another cause of anxiety even 
worse than any of these things. He was 
expecting an express messenger with de- 
spatches from Virginia in answer to his 
apology for having usurped authority, and 
to his urgent appeals for reinforcements. 
As this messenger was long overdue, and as 
Clark knew that Hamilton’s Indians were 
haunting the Ohio River, particularly in 
the neighborhood of the Falls, he was con- 
vinced that the man had fallen into the 
enemy’s hands. If that were so, then not 
only must Clark be left for many months 
to come without despatches of the most vital 
importance to him, but Hamilton would re- 
ceive those despatches within a few days, 
and learn from them how weak the force of 
353 


LONG KNIVES 


the Long Knives was, and in what desper- 
ate straits it was placed. 

There was no sleep for George Rogers 
Clark that night. With Vincennes almost 
within sight, the failure of his gun-boat to 
come up with food for his starving men, 
with ammunition, of which his supply was 
all too scant, and with the artillery he so 
sorely needed, threatened him with utter 
and disastrous failure. After all that the 
Long Knives had done and dared and en- 
dured, it seemed well nigh certain that they 
must fail and perish, because of some mis- 
hap to the, gun-boat Willing. 

It was a night of mental agony to the 
heroic young commander — an agony so 
great as to make him forget his physical 
sufferings. 

Nevertheless, he did not lose his courage. 
He had set out resolutely to do this thing 
or to die trying, and if it must be death in- 
stead of triumph, at any rate he would die 
“game.” 

The night was intensely — bitterly — cold. 
Ice half an inch thick formed on the surface 
354 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


of the water that the Long Knives must 
wade through, and their drenched clothing 
was as stiff as sheet-iron when they awoke 
to their terrible day’s work. 

Fortunately, the day brought a brilliant 
blaze of sunlight with it, which was cheer- 
ing and inspiriting. Clark made a speech 
to the men, telling them their terrible task 
was nearly done, and assuring them that 
their courage, endurance and patriotism 
would be celebrated in song and story so 
long as the American Republic should en- 
dure upon the earth. For, he explained, 
when Vincennes should be in their hands, 
they would be conquerors of a region greater 
than all Europe in extent, and more fruit- 
ful than any other land on earth. “Just 
think of it,” he said. “When all this west- 
ern country is converted into farms, just 
think of the millions and billions of bushels 
of wheat and corn it will produce! The 
people that are to come after us — our 
children and grandchildren — could build 
a range of mountains every year, from the 
lakes to the Ohio, out of the corn alone that 
will grow on these prairies. And every 
355 


LONG KNIVES 


man among you is to have three hundred 
acres of the land for his own. Every man 
among you can build a mountain of his own 
out of his corn and his wheat, his rye and 
his oats, his barley and his hay; and when 
you get orchards going there’ll be apples 
enough every year in this fruitful land, to 
supply all the world with luscious fruit. 
When this job of conquest is done and the 
British are finally driven out of this fair 
land, you men will make homes here, and 
breed a race of children worthy to succeed 
you. They will grow up into a manhood 
that will securely hold and defend the Re- 
public you have helped to found. And they 
will be better men than you and I, for on 
every hill there will be a schoolhouse, and 
our children will learn the things that we 
have had no chance to learn. There will be 
academies and colleges, too, and great uni- 
versities all over this land. Great men will 
arise to direct the affairs of a great Repub- 
lic, and they will teach the people to honor 
you, as the men who won all this land to 
liberty by your heroism, your daring and 
your endurance. 


356 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


“We have only a little more to endure. 
This day’s march will be a trying one, but 
it will be the last, I hope and believe. We 
must make it the last. We must sleep in 
Vincennes to-night, but not until every 
hungry man in this force shall have fed fat 
upon the provisions there. Our work is 
nearly done, and an abundant supply of 
food is only six miles away. Let us go and 
get it.” 

Then, with a whoop and a hurrah, he 
plunged into the icy water. As he did so, 
Tom Harrod and the drummer boy — whose 
spirits seemed inexhaustible — set up a song. 
They had together composed it during the 
night before, Tom composing the “song bal- 
lad,” as he called the words, and the drum- 
mer boy fitting a banjo accompaniment 
to it. 

This is the song they sang: 

A SONG OF VINCENNES. 

Where there’s bacon and corn bread, and 
spare ribs and chine, 

Rio rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey; 

And cider in plenty, we don’t care for wine, 
Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey. 

357 


LONG KNIVES 


We’ve waded the waters and marched o’er 
the fens, 

And now we’re to dine in the Fort of Vin- 
cennes, — 

We’re to dine at the Hair-Buyer-Gen’ral’s 
expense, 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey. 

We’ve not been invited and that sort of 
thing, 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey, 

But for such circumflexions we don’t care 
a ding, 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey, 

At the muzzles of rifles our welcome, we 
bring, 

And as we march onward we merrily sing 

Of the time when the bullets will zip and 
ping ping. 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey. 

The waters are deep but the shore’s just 
ahead 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey, 

And we’ve plenty of powder and plenty of 
lead 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey. 

We have fought against wrong, we have 
fought for the right, 

358 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


We are going to fight again early to-night, 
And then we are going to sup and to bite, 

Rip rorey, rip rorey, rip rorey. 

The men caught the refrain at the very 
first verse, and by the time the song had 
been sung twice or thrice, they knew the 
words by heart, and joined in the singing 
with a will that presaged nothing of good 
to the Hair-Buyer- General when these Vir- 
ginia Long Knives should assail him. 

But the task proved too great for the ex- 
hausted men to accomplish in that one day, 
as they had hoped, and when night came 
they made camp on a little hillock within 
full sight of the town. The men were 
utterly exhausted with cold, hunger and 
fatigue. So great was their exhaustion, 
indeed, that many of them had to be taken 
by the elbows by their stronger comrades 
and literally towed to the shore. There 
many of them, worn out, famished and half 
frozen, fell at the water’s edge, with their 
bodies half on shore and half in the stream. 
There they would have perished but for the 
359 


LONG KNIVES 

lingering energy of their weary and starv- 
ing comrades, who, finding that the fires 
they quickly huilt did not suffice to restore 
the vitality of these worn out ones, seized 
them and forcibly ran them back and forth 
until their pulses once more responded to 
life’s needs. 

Nevertheless, all the men were starving — 
those who were still able to exert themselves 
as well as those who had succumbed. But 
for a lucky chance, George Rogers Clark 
would have been compelled to press on into 
the town that night, or else to suffer his 
command to perish there of cold, hunger 
and exhaustion. 

That lucky chance was the capture of a 
canoe in which there was a very small piece 
of buffalo meat. In order to make the 
most of this small provision supply, Clark 
had it stewed into a broth, which he doled 
out to the men in small portions. At that 
point in the proceedings, Tom Harrod 
fibbed a little, and all the stronger men in 
the force joined him in his prevarication. 
He declared that he was not hungry, and 
360 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


all the stronger men did the same, leaving 
the scant supply of broth for the rejuven- 
ation of their weaker comrades, and thus 
keeping the force up to its very small nu- 
merical strength. 

But on that day Clark’s men captured 
some prisoners from the town, and their 
stories, to his delight, confirmed what he had 
already heard as to the situation of things 
there, the strength of the garrison, and the 
disposition of the inhabitants. Then he 
called Tom Harrod and Captain Bowman 
into consultation. To them he said: 

“I have been hoping to take the British 
by surprise, but while we have captured 
some of their scouts, others must have got 
away with news of our approach. They 
must know by this time that we are com- 
ing, but they don’t know how weak we 
are, and we must fool them about that. We 
are within easy sight of the town, and I 
want you, Captain Bowman, to study the 
landscape and march the men about showing 
them first here and then there till scouts 
seeing them from the other shore shall think 
361 


LONG KNIVES 


we number a thousand or so. And I want 
you, Tom, with the drummer boy, to col- 
lect the loudest singers in the force and 
go out on that hill,” pointing, “and sing 
all your songs by a bonfire till late in the 
night. If we can’t surprise them we may 
at least terrorize them. Then I’m going to 
send one of these prisoners into the town 
with the news that we’re coming. I’ll give 
him a letter to the inhabitants. In it I’ll 
remind them of their oath of allegiance to 
the American cause. I’ll tell them we are 
coming to conquer the fort and make prison- 
ers of Hamilton and all his men, seizing 
for our own their ammunition and their 
stores of provisions. 

“I’ll say to them that if they value their 
lives they must go at once to their homes 
and stay there; that if any of them desire 
to join the British they must betake them- 
selves to the fort at once and there fight 
like men; but that every man that I find 
in the streets with arms in his hands, will 
be severely dealt with as a sneaking 
enemy.” 


362 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


“What’s your game?” asked Tom, whose 
curiosity was as irrepressible as his enthu- 
siasm for the cause. “Why not let me go 
in to-night with half a dozen men and what 
Hawk calls ‘a multitude o’ noise’ and police 
the place till you get there with the rest 
of the force? I’ll guarantee that with Sim 
Crane, Hawk Camden, Ike Todd and two 
or three others, we’ll make them think there 
are a thousand of us; and we’ll see to it 
that nobody who values his skin a little 
more than that of a mole, shall leave his 
house till you give him permission.” 

“That might do, Tom, if we had to do 
the thing that way. But in its present con- 
dition of exhaustion this force simply can- 
not wade the two miles that lie between us 
and the town until the men have had a 
night’s rest. Meanwhile I don’t want the 
British to enlist the French in their service. 
You see those Frenchmen are rats. They 
scamper to their holes at the first sign of 
danger. But a rat penned up in a corner 
will fight like a catamount — not because of 
courage, for he has none, but because of 
363 


LONG KNIVES 


cowardly desperation. Now if the British 
manage to get those French rats penned up 
in their fort, we’ll have a job on our hands 
to conquer them. If you went in with a 
squad and did business with your guns, 
every able-bodied Frenchman in the town 
would flee to the fort in terror, and in terror 
every one of them would fight us like rats 
in a corner. My plan is to notify them in 
advance ; to impress their minds with the idea 
that we are here in overwhelming force; 
that we are certain to capture the fort, and 
that the best thing every Frenchman can 
do is to stay within his own four walls while, 
we are doing the business. So I have pre- 
pared my address to the inhabitants, and 
I am going to send it into Vincennes to- 
night by the hands of a released prisoner. 
Then, to-morrow, we’ll march in with no 
opposition. After we’ve had something to 
eat we’ll assail the fort. Captain Bowman, 
please busy yourself in showing the troops 
and making the most of the showing.” 

Between the Virginians and the town lay 
a plain dotted with many ponds, on which 
364 


A DAUNTLESS CREW 


wild fowl swam in great flocks. Clark’s 
videttes saw many of the town’s people on 
the banks of these little lakes, where they 
were busy shooting the wild fowl. Some 
of these citizens caught sight of Clark’s 
force and of his camp fires, and gave the 
alarm at the fort. But Hamilton was so 
sure that with the country flooded as it was 
no army could approach, that he treated 
these alarms with contempt. He did in- 
deed, rather as a matter of military form 
than otherwise, send out a scouting party 
of twenty men under Captain Lamotte, but 
these got themselves entangled in the 
swamps and neither found out anything nor 
succeeded in getting back to the fort that 
night to report their failure to discover any 
cause of alarm. 

In the meanwhile Clark’s letter to the 
French inhabitants of the town did its per- 
fect work. They retired to their homes, 
and not one of them ventured to report at 
the fort that Clark had sent any such letter 
or even that he was approaching Vincennes. 
Those of the inhabitants who were in favor 
365 


LONG KNIVES 


of the British cause, instead of going to the 
fort with the news and there fighting like 
men, as Clark had urged them to do, hur- 
riedly left the town. So did two hundred 
hostile Indians who had been assembled 
there under arms, but in whose soul Clark’s 
name inspired a peculiar terror. Without 
waiting even to learn how many Virginia 
Long Knives he might or might not have 
with him, they hurriedly retreated toward 
Detroit and safety, thus leaving Clark with 
nothing to assail but a completely submis- 
sive populace, and a slenderly-garrisoned 
fort whose commander was confidently as- 
sured of his safety by reason of the sub- 
merged condition of the country round 
about, over which it never once dawned upon 
his regularly military mind that a deter- 
mined force of brave and enduring men 
could make such a march as that which the 
Long Knives, under their dauntless leader, 
had in fact made. 


366 


XXX 


IN VINCENNES AT LAST 

I T was seven o’clock the next evening 
when Clark’s starvelings finally marched 
into Vincennes. With the precision of 
regulars the force divided itself into two 
parts. One of these surrounded the fort 
and opened a desultory fire upon it, just 
by way of establishing the condition of siege 
and preventing any one from escaping into 
the town or elsewhere. The other part of 
the force took possession of the town hv 
way of enforcing Clark’s order that the 
people who did not want to incur his venge- 
ance should remain within their houses. 

The townspeople received Clark’s men 
joyfully. They had been long under ter- 
ror of Hamilton’s oppression, and they wel- 
comed Clark as their deliverer although they 
could not in any wise guess how he had 
367 


LONG KNIVES 


managed to get there. There he was, at 
any rate, and they accepted the fact as a 
miracle wrought for their deliverance. 

There was no time for the feast which 
Tom Harrod’s song had prefigured, but, 
seeing in what state of starvation Clark’s 
men were, the Creole people hastily supplied 
all of them with hand luncheons of bread 
and meat, and under the stimulus of the 
food the men were wild to storm the fort 
immediately. They clamored for permis- 
sion to force the gates without parley and 
wreak vengeance up the Hair-Buyer-Gen- 
eral. 

There is practically no doubt that with a 
single rush they could and would have gone 
into the fort and conquered it. But Clark 
was a wisely prudent commander as well as 
a desperately daring one. In the absence 
of the forty-six men who were manning the 
gunboat Willing, and who had not yet come 
up, his force was so small that he dared not 
risk the lives of his men in a dash, when 
he was assured of success by slower and less 
venturesome methods. 

368 


IN VINCENNES AT LAST 

He restrained the ardor of his men, and 
so posted them as to expose each of them as 
little as possible. So discreetly did he man- 
age this that in all the fighting that followed 
he lost only one man wounded. 

About eight o’clock in the evening, an 
Indian Chief, the son of Tobacco’s Son, 
presented himself, and offer ed to bring all 
his warriors to Clark’s assistance. But 
Clark was confident of his ability to ac- 
complish his military purpose without 
savage help, and for many reasons he 
deemed it best not to involve the Indians 
in the affair. For one thing they would 
have butchered everybody in the fort, from 
Hamilton down to the negro scullion, 
thereby making the conquest a slaughter. 
In addition, Clark’s own force was so small 
that he could not hope to control his Indian 
allies after their victory. On the whole he 
preferred to do this thing himself, so he 
told the son of the Tobacco’s Son that all 
he asked of the Indians in this emergency 
was that they should remain neutral, taking 
neither the one side nor the other. 

369 


LONG KNIVES 


The Creoles — that is to say the French 
people of Vincennes — also offered their 
help, and in some degree Clark accepted 
their offer. He permitted them to furnish 
him with powder and bullets, of which his 
supply was running very low, and he ac- 
cepted the volunteered service of twenty or 
so of their young men who asked permis- 
sion to participate in the fight. Wise diplo- 
mat that he was, he had a good and suf- 
ficient reason for doing this. He saw that 
if a considerable number of the Creoles 
should fight with him for the reduction of 
the fort, the whole Creole population — 
closely interrelated as they were — would be, 
by that act, permanently committed to the 
American cause. So he accepted the ser- 
vices of these young men and placed them 
on his firing line. 

The British commander, Hamilton, was 
so confident that no enemy could approach, 
in the submerged condition of the country 
round about, that when Clark’s men opened 
fire upon the fort he treated the affair with 
indifference, assuming that the shots came 
370 


IN VINCENNES AT LAST 


from drunken Indians, of whose vagaries 
in that way he had had large experience. 

After Clark had satisfied himself of the 
submissiveness of the Creole population, he 
detached a part of his men to guard against 
possible relief from without, and with the 
rest he continued to fire upon the fort. He 
had no artillery — his guns being on board 
the gunboat — but his men knew how to shoot 
so straight with their rifles that the enemy 
simply could not man his guns. Whenever 
a British detachment undertook to man and 
fire a cannon, the Virginians poured so pre- 
cise and so deadly a fire into the embrasure 
that the cannoneers had to quit their piece 
without firing it, or after firing one wild 
shot, and run to cover. 

It was at this time that Clark played 
one of the boldest and shrewdest of all his 
games of war. He had learned from the 
Creoles that Captain Lamotte, with about 
twenty men, had been sent out on a scouting 
expedition. He knew that Captain La- 
motte would try to get back into the fort. 
Accordingly he detached a part of his force 
371 


LONG KNIVES 


with orders to capture Captain Lamotte and 
all his men. But when he learned that the 
Captain was too wily to fall into his snares, 
Clark determined upon another policy. He 
thought that Lamotte and his little com- 
pany if kept out of the fort, might retreat 
northward, gather a force of Indians and 
return in overwhelming numbers to annoy 
him. He decided, therefore, that it would 
be wiser and better to let Lamotte make his 
way into the fort, so that he and his com- 
pany might be captured with the rest of 
Hamilton’s force, than to let him escape and 
come back with reinforcements. 

Accordingly Clark, who knew that La- 
motte was hiding somewhere about, ordered 
his men not to fire upon him if he should 
attempt to rush into the fort during the 
night, or at least not to fire until the men 
should be clambering over the parapets. 
As Clark’s men were within sixty yards or 
so of the fort, they might easily have killed 
half of Lamotte’s force, but under Clark’s 
orders they refrained from firing until the 
British soldiers were actually scaling the 
372 


IN VINCENNES AT LAST 


palisades. Then they did some damage, 
but the main body of Lamotte’s band got 
into the fort as Clark had planned that they 
should do. 

An hour after midnight the moon went 
down and darkness fell upon the two hostile 
camps. Clark instantly set his men at work 
to throw up a fortification within short 
range of Hamilton’s principal battery. 
When morning came the Virginians were 
securely entrenched, and with their truly 
Wonderful precision in rifle shooting, they 
were in fact masters of the situation. 

At sunrise on the morning of the 24th 
of February, these deadly accurate riflemen 
opened a destructive fire upon the embra- 
sures — a fire so precise and so destructive 
that after a few futile shots, the British 
abandoned all efforts to man or fire their 
guns. 


073 


XXXI 


THE LONG KNIVES TRIUMPH 

A S^soon as he had demonstrated the ca- 
pacity of his Virginia riflemen to si- 
lence the guns of the fort and to keep 
them silent, Col. Clark, in a peremptory 
message, demanded Hamilton’s surrender, 
with all his men, ammunition and supplies. 

In view of the probability that some of 
Hamilton’s scouting parties of Indians on 
the Ohio river had captured the express 
rider from Virginia now so long overdue, 
Clark felt it to be very necessary that he 
should complete the work of reducing this 
fort as quickly as possible; for while he 
had Hamilton shut in, so that his Indian 
scouts could not communicate with him, 
Clark was confident that upon finding what 
the situation was, the officers commanding 
the Indians would hurry messengers to De- 
374 


THE LONG KNIVES TRIUMPH 


troit with the captured despatches. In that 
case the authorities there, upon learning of 
Clark’s weakness, would hurry forward a 
force to assail him. He felt it necessary 
to secure himself in the fort before that 
should happen. Accordingly he demanded 
Hamilton’s surrender — and his summons 
was very haughty indeed. He warned the 
British commander that if he destroyed any 
papers before quitting the fort it would be 
the worse for him. In a word, Clark as- 
sumed the tone of a confident conqueror, 
dictating terms, and in effect threatening 
the British force with utter extermination 
if, by the hopeless prolonging of resistance, 
they should compel the Americans to take 
the fort by storm. 

After Clark had sent in the summons to 
surrender, and while waiting for Hamil- 
ton’s reply, the Virginians cooked and ate 
breakfast, the first orderly meal they had 
had for six days and nights of terrible hun- 
ger. Thus at last was fulfilled the promise 
of Tom Harrod’s song, and when the meal 
had been eaten, the men were more clamor- 
375 


LONG KNIVES 


ously eager than ever to march up to the 
gates of the fort and take it by storm. But 
Clark perfectly knew that, as he expressed 
it to Tom Harrod, he had “the rats in a 
trap,” and could “settle the score with them 
without risking the lives of much better 
men.” That risk would be all the greater 
for the reason that while the British were 
armed with army muskets, each supplied 
with a bayonet, Clark’s men had no weapons 
but their rifles, no bayonets and even no 
swords with which to do hand to hand fight- 
ing. He meant to storm the fort if he 
must, but he earnestly desired to avoid that 
if possible. 

“Even Hamilton,” he explained to Tom 
Harrod, “may have enterprise enough to 
make a bayonet charge, and in that case 
many of our brave fellows would be sacri- 
ficed. I shall not needlessly waste such 
men. Besides we can accomplish our pur- 
pose without that.” 

Just as he was saying this a courier from 
the picket lines arrived to report that a 
party of Indians and Frenchmen in the 
376 


THE LONG KNIVES TRIUMPH 


British service were coming into the town. 
They had been off “gathering hair” for sale 
to the Hair-Buyer-General. That is to say 
they had been raiding the Kentucky border, 
at Hamilton’s instigation, scalping men, 
women and helpless children. They were 
bringing back their hideous trophies in or- 
der that they might collect the wages of 
cruel and cowardly murder, which Hamil- 
ton had promised them. They knew noth- 
ing whatever of the presence of the Long 
Knives in Vincennes, but they were destined 
presently to have that fact revealed to their 
unsuspecting minds with startling sudden- 
ness and impressive emphasis. After wait- 
ing for three or four minutes to give the 
raiders time to get well into the town, Col. 
Clark detached one of his companies under 
command of a Captain, with the order: 

“Attend to those butchers, and see that 
not one of them escapes.” 

Then to Tom Harrod, he said: 

“I believe there are burying grounds in 
Vincennes. If not we’ll open one.” 

The Captain who was charged with this 

377 


LONG KNIVES 


business, marched his men hurriedly to a 
point between the raiders and the outer 
lines. Then he fell upon the party, the 
Long Knives assailing them with the fury 
of madmen. 

The raiders promptly sought safety in 
flight, and to the chagrin of Clark’s men, 
many of them made good their escape. But 
one of them was killed and eight were cap- 
tured, with their strings of scalps upon 
them. 

When Clark was notified of the result he 
quietly gave the order to bring the captured 
ones to him. The officer reporting spoke 
of these as “prisoners of war,” and Clark 
promptly corrected him. 

“I don’t recognize the murderers of men 
and the scalpers of women and children as 
prisoners of war. They are criminals under 
arrest, hideous monsters to be destroyed. 
Bring them to me.” 

Two of those captured were Frenchmen, 
who had led the gang, and six were In- 
dians. At first Clark intended to put all 
of them to death as a just punishment for 
378 


THE LONG KNIVES TRIUMPH 


their peculiarly atrocious crimes. But just 
as he was giving orders to that effect a 
Frenchman, who was doing good service as 
a lieutenant in Clark’s force, came to him 
weeping and pleading for mercy to the 
captured Frenchmen, one of whom, he ex- 
plained, was his own son. After much 
pleading and persuasion Clark consented to 
spare the lives of these two, while holding 
them as prisoners of war. 

As for the six Indians, Clark had them 
taken to a point near the fort and in full 
view of it, and there he ordered them brained 
with their own weapon, the tomahawk. 
The proceeding was a cruel one, but it was 
just and necessary. 

“These Indians” Clark afterwards ex- 
plained, “had tomahawked not only many 
men, but many helpless women and many 
innocent children, including even babies in 
arms. It was only fair that they should 
themselves suffer the cruel death they had 
inflicted upon so many victims.” 

It was necessary to punish them in this 
impressive fashion by way of warning the 
379 


LONG KNIVES 


other Indians round about, to impress them 
with the terror of the vengeance the Long 
Knives were capable of wreaking, and to 
show them that the British could no longer 
protect them in the crimes they had hired 
them to commit. 

At first Hamilton haughtily declined to 
surrender, but when the Virginians again 
opened fire upon the fort, picking off, with 
deadly precision, every man who ventured 
to expose any part of his person to their 
mercilessly accurate aim, the British com- 
mander sent out another flag of truce ask- 
ing for a cessation of hostilities for three 
days, for purposes of negotiation. 

This was precisely the one thing to which 
Clark would on no account consent. He 
w r as determined to secure possession of the 
strong fort before any force from without 
could come to Hamilton’s rescue. He 
therefore rejected the proposal, but sent 
Hamilton word that if he desired to nego- 
tiate, the. two commanders might meet in a 
neighboring church, with Captain Helm, 
who, as we know, was still a prisoner in 
380 


THE LONG KNIVES TRIUMPH 


Hamilton’s hands, as a witness to whatever 
might be agreed upon. 

The conference was held as arranged, and 
Hamilton agreed to surrender the fort, the 
garrison, and everything the fort held in 
the way of arms, ammunition, papers and 
food supplies. 

The surrender was arranged on the 
twenty-fourth of February, and on the next 
morning the Hair-Buyer- General marched 
out and laid down his arms, surrendering 
himself and the seventy-nine men under his 
command as prisoners of war. 

Thus ended in complete victory one of the 
most remarkable military operations re- 
corded anywhere in the history of war. 

The young backwoodsman, with a mere 
handful of followers had literally conquered 
a region as vast as all Europe. He had 
made perhaps the most painful and difficult 
march ever made, through icy floods and 
over morasses that might well have baffled 
the most daring of men. With a little com- 
pany of untrained hunters, armed only with 
rifles, without artillery, without bayonets 
381 


LONG KNIVES 


and without swords, he had assailed and con- 
quered a strong fort, garrisoned by regulars 
and armed with cannon. He had made an 
end of the British power. He had made 
himself complete master of the great West. 
He had saved to this nation of ours the fair- 
est region that was ever won to liberty by 
the exertions of brave and heroically endur- 
ing men. 

President Roosevelt, in “The Winning of 
the West,” sums the, matter up in this wise: 

“Much credit belongs to Clark’s men, but 
most belongs to their leader. The boldness 
of his plan and the resolute skill with which 
he followed it out, his perseverance through 
the intense hardships of the midwinter 
march, the address with which he kept the 
French and Indians neutral, and the mas- 
terful way in which he, controlled his own 
troops, together with the ability and courage 
he displayed in the actual attack, combined 
to make his feat the most memorable of all 
the deeds done west of the Alleglianies in 
the Revolutionary War.” * 

* This passage is quoted here with the courteous per- 
mission of Mr. Roosevelt. — Author. 

382 


XXXII 


AFTERWARDS 

C LARK was now absolute master of the 
Illinois country, and his hold upon it 
as an American possession was never 
afterwards broken. But there was still 
much to be done by way of settling and con- 
firming his conquest. 

In the first place he must dispose of his 
prisoners, and his own force was too small 
to permit any considerable detachment of 
men to guard them. Moreover the inten- 
sity of the hatred that Hamilton had aroused 
among the borderers by his encouragement 
of Indian forays, was so great that it re- 
quired all of Clark’s authority and all of his 
almost boundless influence to protect his 
chief prisoner from the fury of his follow- 
ers. 

He decided, after some consideration, to 
383 


LONG KNIVES 


send Hamilton and twenty-seven of his men 
under secure guard to Virginia as close 
prisoners, and to parole the. rest of Hamil- 
ton’s followers — all the men of less account 
and less influence — permitting them to re- 
turn to Detroit and to Canada, under an 
oath-bound pledge to fight no more against 
the Americans. 

In the meanwhile the gunboat Willing 
had at last come up, thus giving Clark a 
reinforcement of forty-six Long Knives 
and all the cannon and ammunition that the 
Willing had carried. 

The men who had been on board the Will- 
ing were chagrined in an extreme degree 
when they learned that they were too late 
for the fighting and that without their help 
their comrades had captured the town and 
secured possession of the fort. But, as we 
know, it was in no possible way their fault 
that they were belated. They had done 
their best. They had toiled ceaselessly, 
night and day, against difficulties that even 
their courage and endurance found it diffi- 
cult to overcome. And, after all, their de- 
384 


AFTERWARDS 


lay, while it had subjected Clark’s force to 
a good deal of hardship and privation, had 
not marred the ultimate results of the ex- 
pedition. 

They were at Vincennes at last, and their 
coming was a relief to Col. Clark. For 
just at that time news came to him that a 
party of forty Frenchmen from Detroit 
was coming down the river in boats, loaded 
to the water’s edge with goods of every 
kind. These cargoes were, valued at fifty 
thousand dollars. 

Now that the forty-six men who had con- 
stituted the crew of the Willing had re- 
joined him, Col. Clark was able to detach 
fifty men under Captain Leonard Helm for 
the purpose of capturing this rich store of 
supplies. 

Captain Helm placed his men in boats, 
arming each boat with a swivel but depend- 
ing far more for effective war work upon 
the rifles, which were carried along, each 
man having his own gun by his side, and 
his powder horn and bullet pouch on his 
person. 


385 


LONG KNIVES 


The expedition was completely success- 
ful. Captain Helm fell upon the Detroit 
party, overcame them, and captured the rich 
freightage without the loss of a man or of 
a single pound of the merchandise. 

In view of this capture and of the enor- 
mous stores already seized in the fort, Clark 
was able to make his Long Knives “almost 
rich,” as he reported in his memoir, by the 
distribution of desirable goods among them. 

At the same time he did not neglect the 
people of Vincennes. So far as was pos- 
sible he returned to them the provisions and 
other goods that Hamilton had wantonly 
seized, thereby cementing the already strong 
friendship between the Creoles and the con- 
quering Long Knives. 

The coming of the gunboat Willing 
greatly relieved Clark’s mind in another 
way. On its way up the river the boat had 
picked up the express runner from Vir- 
ginia, for whose coming Clark had long and 
anxiously waited and whose capture he had 
so greatly feared. The despatches this 
man brought announced that Clark’s usur- 
386 


AFTERWARDS 


pation of authority to re-enlist his men, 
and all his other acts, were fully approved 
and legalized by the government at Wil- 
liamsburg. 

The despatches also announced the com- 
ing of some small reinforcements. These 
reinforcements were not sufficient to en- 
able Clark to carry out his pet plan — which 
was to march on Detroit itself with eight 
hundred or a thousand Long Knives, cap- 
ture the stronghold, break the British power 
there and make an American possession of 
all Western Canada. 

At that time indeed it was utterly im- 
possible for Virginia to spare a sufficient 
reinforcement for such an undertaking. 
For the British in the east had by this time 
shifted the scene of their operations to the 
south. They had captured Savannah and 
Charleston (then called Charles Town) and 
were overrunning Georgia and the Caro- 
linas, while Benedict Arnold, the traitor, 
was cruelly ravaging Virginia. Under the 
circumstances, every man in Virginia was 
sorely needed there, and the only wonder 
387 


LONG KNIVES 


is that the authorities at Williamsburg felt 
themselves able to spare even a handful of 
fighting men for Clark’s reinforcement. 

The promised reinforcement — which 
presently arrived — was sufficient at least to 
enable the commander of the Long Knives 
to render secure the conquests he had al- 
ready made. He established sufficient gar- 
risons at Vincennes, Ivaskaskia and Caho- 
kia, to hold all that land securely. The 
French people everywhere rejoiced when 
they saw how completely Clark had made 
himself master of the Illinois, and how help- 
less the British were ever to reconquer that 
country. 

As for the Indians, the. very name of 
George Rogers Clark inspired them with 
sufficient terror to keep them in subjection 
and to compel their good behavior. Dur- 
ing the remainder of the revolutionary 
period, the Indians of the Northwest gave 
no further trouble, and intercepted letters 
now in the government archives, show that 
even as far south as Louisiana, the fear of 
Clark and his resistless Long Knives corn- 
388 


AFTERWARDS 


pelled savage tribes to peace when, but for 
their fear of him, they would have made 
destructive war. 

* * * 

Tom Harrod, Hawk Camden, Sim Crane 
and Ike Todd, remained with George Rog- 
ers Clark so long as he had any work to do 
in the Illinois. When at last he returned 
to Corn Island, they went back to their 
Kentucky homes. 

Tom Harrod invited Hawk Camden to 
go home with him and be his guest for a 
time. Hawk was eager to get back to his 
haunts on the Holston — or rather in the 
mountains that are near that river — for 
Hawk lived always in the mountains where, 
as he said: “A feller can breathe, an’ not 
be a jostlin’ up agin other folks all the 
time.” But on the journey from the Il- 
linois to the Falls, he had seriously injured 
one of his feet, so that he dared not yet set 
out on his return. 

He remained for a month with Tom, 
while nursing his injured foot. When at 
last he found himself able to travel, he an- 
389 


LONG KNIVES 


nounced his purpose one day to start on the 
morrow. 

“I say, Tom,” he said, “about this here 
gov’ment land business, you know Col. 
Clark says us fellers is to have three hun- 
dred acres apiece somewheres over there in 
the Injianny country. I ain’t got no use 
fer no land out here where they ain’t no 
mountings, an’ where folks calls every little 
piece o’ risin’ ground a hill. Besides that 
I ain’t no farmer an’ never will be none. 
I’m a hunter. So ef you don’t mind I’ll 
sell you my sheer in that there land. I’d 
ruther you had it than anybody else.” 

“But I haven’t any money with which to 
buy it, Hawk,” Tom answered. 

“They ain’t no money needful, Tom. I 
jest naturally don’t want to live out this 
here way, an’ so I don’t want my sheer o’ 
that there land. When the time comes to 
draw it an’ locate it, you can jest draw my 
sheer an’ locate it adjinin’ your sheer, makin’ 
one piece out’n it. When you git your 
farm agoin’ an’ thrivin’ an’ prosperous, 
like, an’ when you’re a makin’ lots o’ monev 
390 


AFTERWARDS 


an’ don’t owe nobody nothin’ you kin send 
me twenty dollars may be, ef you’re a mind 
to do that, an’ that’ll squar us. Ef you 
ain’t a mind to do it you needn’t, an’ that’s 
all they is about it.” 

The next day Hawk bade Tom and his 
people good-bye, shouldered his rifle, and 
with a little sack of meal and a piece of 
bacon for his only supplies, set off on his 
homeward journey. 

A little later the government set apart a 
hundred and fifty thousand acres of finely 
fertile land in the river bottoms north of 
the Ohio, for distribution among George 
Rogers Clark’s men. Tom received his 
own and Hawk Camden’s land warrants, 
and went at once to select the tract that best 
suited him. Then, selling out his mother’s 
little farm in Kentucky, he removed the 
family across the. river where all set to work 
to clear fields and bring under cultivation 
as much of the land as they could manage. 

It was very slow work at first, for the 
timber on Tom’s land was heavy. But his 
two younger brothers were growing up 
391 


LONG KNIVES 


now, and young as they were they were ex- 
pert with their axes and hoes, so that at the 
end of the first year Tom found the family 
abundantly provided with food for the win- 
ter. He had brought with him from Ken- 
tucky two cows and three or four brood 
sows, and the pigs they brought to him pro- 
vided the family with plenty of pork and 
bacon for the winter. 

Each year his fields were enlarged and his 
cattle and hogs increased in number so that 
by the end of their third year of farming, 
Tom and his brothers — tall f ellows now, and 
strong — -had a considerable supply of bacon, 
corn and other farm products for sale. 
They loaded these upon a flat boat, and took 
them to New Orleans, for the revolutionary 
war had ended in American Independence 
a year or two before that time, and under 
an arrangement with Spain the people along 
the Ohio and Mississippi rivers were allowed 
to trade with the Southern city. 

Out of the money he received for his 
produce, Tom sent Hawk Camden twenty- 
392 


AFTERWARDS 


five Spanish silver dollars — “twenty for the 
debt and five for interest” he wrote. 

A few months later the money came back 
to him by the hand of an emigrant with the 
news that Hawk Camden had died a year 
before from the bite of one of his pet rattle- 
snakes. The sheriff, who sent the money 
back to Tom with the letter, informing him 
of Hawk’s death, added: 

“He ain’t lef’ no kinfolks to klame the 
mimny.” 


THE END. 


393 





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amusing, and is a true story worked up into a “ great ” 
one for boys. 

The Cleveland World says : “ It is a book that may 
be recommended to all boys and girls.” 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., Boston 



BO F ?f s Y oung Americans. 

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS, 

THE POPULAR “TRUE STORY” SERIES. 


Seven 4to volumes of from 200 to 250 pages each, profusely 
illustrated and attractively bound in cloth, each #1.50. 

“ A series which is worthy of hearty commendation. Every grown-up 

person who has read one of them will wish to buy the whole series for the 

young folks at home.” — The Christian Advocate. 

This series contains : 

THE TRUE STORY OF CHRISTOPHER 
COLUMBUS, called the Admiral. 

Revised Edition. 

THE TRUE STORY OF GEORGE 
WASHINGTON, called the Father of 
His Country. 

THE TRUE STORY OF ABRAHAM LIN- 
COLN, the American. 

THE TRUE STORY OF U. S. GRANT, 
the American Soldier. 

THE TRUE STORY OF BENJAMIN 
FRANKLIN, the American Statesman. 

THE TRUE STORY OF LAFAYETTE, 
the Friend of America. 

THE TRUE STORY OF THE UNITED 
STATES OF AMERICA. From 1492 
to 1900. 

Also, recently published : 

IN BLUE AND WHITE. A Story of the 
American Revolution. 8vo, illustrated, $1.50. 

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., 

93 FEDERAL STREET BOSTON. 


PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 
By A. T. DUDLEY 

Cloth, i2mo Illustrated by Charles Copeland Price per volume, $ 1.25 


FOLLOWING THE BALL 

H ERE is an up-to-date story presenting American boarding-school 
life and modern athletics. Football is an important feature, but it 
is a story of character formation in which athletics play an important part. 

“ Mingled with the story of football is another and higher endeavor, giving the 
book the best of moral tone.” — Chicago Record-Herald. 

MAKING THE NINE 

T HE life presented is that of a real school, interesting, diversified, 
and full of striking incidents, while the characters are true and 
consistent types of American boyhood aud youth. The athletics are 
technically correct, abounding in helpful suggestions, and the moral 
tone is high and set by action rather than preaching. 

“The story is healthful, for, while it exalts athletics, it does not overlook the 
fact that studious habits and noble character are imperative needs for those wha 
would win success in life.” — Herald and Presbyter , Cincinnati. 

IN THE LINE 

T ELLS how a stalwart young student won his position as guard, and 
at the same time made equally marked progress in the formation of 
character. Plenty of jolly companions contribute a strong, humorous 
element, and the book has every essential of a favorite. 

“ The book gives boys an interesting story, much football information, and many 
lessons in true manliness.”— Watchman , Boston. 


With Mask and Mitt 

W HILE baseball plays an important part 
in this story, it is not the only element 
of attraction. While appealing to the natural 
normal tastes of boys for fun and interest in 
the national game, the book, without preach- 
ing, lays emphasis on the building up of 
character. 

“ No normal boy who is interested in our great 
national game can fail to find interest and profit, too, 
in this lively boarding-school story.” — Interior , 

Chicago . 

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid 
by tl e publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.. BOSTON 



on receipt of price 


JACK TENFIELDS STAR 

By Martha James Illustrated by Charles Copeland Large i 2 mo $1.00 

J ACK TENFIELD is a bright Boston boy, who, 
while preparing for college, is brought to face 
the fact that his father, a benevolent physi- 
cian, and supposed to be well-to-do, had really 
left no estate. Jack resolutely defends his 
father’s memory, and makes the best of it. Cir- 
cumstances bring much travel and many adven- 
tures, in all of which his generous, manly 
character rings true. That Jack is capable of 
being his “own star’’ well expresses the ex- 
cellent thought of the book, which is remarkable 
for variety of well-told incidents. 

“ A clean, wholesome, enjoyable book.” — The Amer* 
ican Boy , Detroit, Mich. 

Tom Winstone, “Wide Awake” 

By Martha James Large i2mo Illustrated by W. Herbert Dunton $1.00 

W E have often wished that we could secure a book for boys like the 
undying ones written by J. T. Trowbridge, and in “Tom Win- 
stone’* we have a young hero whose story is told in a way well worthy 
to be compared with the work of the older writer referred to. The 
sterling quality shown in “ My Friend Jim” is all here, and “ Tom,” an 
older boy, equally efficient in baseball, a foot race, or a noble action, is 
well worth knowing. 

"Any healthy boy will delight in this book.”— Living Church , Milwaukee, Wis. 

My Friend Jim 

A Story of Real Boys and for Them 

By Martha James Large i2mo Illus- 
trated by Frank T. Merrill $1.00 

J UST the book to place in the hands of 
bright, active boys, and one that the 
most careful parents will be glad to use 
for that purpose. The loyal friendship 
springing up between Jim, the son of a me- 
chanic, and a wealthy man’s son who is at 
Sunnyside farm for his health, has made the 
basis for some of the cleanest, brightest, and 
most helpful descriptions of boy life that we 
have ever read. 

“ It is a book that boys will like and profit by.” 

^-Universal is t Leader , Boston. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 




THE GREGORY GUARDS 

By Emma Lee Benedict Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill i2mo $1.25 

A YOUNG man of wealth is trustee for a 
fund to help boys and chooses six to pass 
the summer at his home on an island near New 
York. These lads of widely different tempera- 
ments in true boy fashion form a “club,” 
whose highest purpose it is to watch over the 
property and interests of their benefactor, and 
to which they give his name. All profit in great 
measure from a summer that is a turning point in 
their lives. A story of reaping good by doing 
good, bright and entertaining and full of life, 
incident, and good sense. 

“ It is a story along novel lines, and may be warmly 
commended.” — St. Louis Globe-Democrat. 

The Young Vigilantes 

A Story of California Life in the Fifties 

By Samuel Adams Drake Illustrated by L. J. 

Bridgman Price $1.25 

F EW men now remain who can describe the 
“Forty-Niners” from personal knowledge 
and experience, and the very best one of them 
is the noted historical writer, Col. Drake. One 
of two young chums in Boston yields to the ex- 
citement of the day and goes to California, partly 
at his friend’s expense. Later, the hero of the story 
is driven by injustice to make his way thither via 
the route across Nicaragua, befriended by an old 
sailor. A reunion and exciting experiences in San 
Francisco follow. 

“ The book is a bright, able, and wholesome contribution to the knowledge of 
our country’s progress .” — Religious Telescope , Dayton , O. 

Joe’s Signal Code 

By W. Reiff Hesser Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill $1.25 

T HIS book tells of the abandoning of a fine ship with its cargo in the 
Pacific Ocean. The leading characters, who are to leave in the last 
boat, had their escape cut off by its destruction, but succeed in saving the 
ship and lead a most interesting life for more than a year on a hitherto 
unknown island. 

“ The boys will enjoy it from cover to cover. The book is many degrees above 
the ordinary story.” — American Bo_y, Detroit. 


For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price 
by the publishers, 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 





THE 

GREGORY GUARDS 

1 — - EMMA IEE BENEDICT 




Making of Our Nation Series 

By WILLIAM C. SPRAGUE 

Large i2mo, Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 

Price per volume, $1.50 


The Boy Courier of Napoleon 

A Story of the Louisiana Purchase 


W ILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc- 
cessful editor of “The American Boy,” 
has given for the firSt time the history 
of the Louisiana Purchase in entertaining story 
form. The hero is introduced as a French 
drummer boy in the great battle of He ”nden. 

He serves as a valet to Napoleon er is 

sent with secret messages to the F- i 1 

Domingo and in Louisiana. Afte. citing au- 
ventures he accomplishes his mission and is 
present at the lowering of the Sp ish flag, and 
later at that of the French ar „^e raising of 
the Stars and Stripes. 

"All boys and girls of our country who read this book will be delighted with it, 
as well as benefited by the historical knowledge contained in its pages.” — Louis . 
ville, Ky ., Times. 

"An excellent book for boys, containing just enough history to make them hunger 
for more. No praise of this book can be too high.” — Town Topics, Cleveland, O, 
"This book is one to fascinate every intelligent American boy.” — Buffalo Times. 



The Boy Pathfinder 

A Story of the Oregcn Trail 


T HIS book has as its hero an actual charactr 
George Shannon, a Pennsylvania lad wh 
at seventeen left school to becon * o 
the Lewis and Clark expedition. He had 
row escapes, but persevered, and t 1 
his wanderings, interwoven with ex' 
torical information, makes the hi; 
general reading for the young. 

"It is a thoroughly good story, full 
adventure and at the same time carry i: : ; , I 

history accurately recorded.” — Uniz 1 

Boston . 



"It is an excellent book for a bo\ , — New - 

ark , N. J., Advertiser. 


'■< ^ C. SPRAGUE I 


For sale by all bo .eAers or seat postpaid on receipt of 
p. ce »y the publishers 

LOTHROP, LEF k SHEPARD CO., BOSTON 





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